Then they met the Thenardiers
by 0nmyOwn
Summary: rubbish title, and I'm bad at summaries so please just read it? Eponine is suffering after the rue plummet incident, and it's Enjolras and his friends which are there to try and pick up the pieces. E/E & E/Gavroche family stuff Rated T for violence and such.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Heey! This is my first Les Mis fic (and any fanfic really), so please be patient with me? haha. This is a bit AU really... hm. I don't know what else to say apart from: Please read it and pretty please with sugar on top, can you review? Thankiessss**

* * *

She screamed.

Her father was going to kill her.

She had screamed.

She was going to pay.

She was going to pay for sabotaging her Father and his gang's plans.

She was scared.

She had seen the evil glint in his muddy grey eyes when he left her to run for the sewers.

She was more scared of him now, than she had ever been before.

Marius didn't seem to understand what had happened - the seriousness of the situation. He rushed over, beaming at her and praised her for "saving the day" and then he introduced her to his beloved Cosette, not knowing that she had, infact, grown up with the blonde for a number of years before she was whisked away for a much better life. Marius invited her to walk through the park with him then to the Café to attend the meeting that was due to start within the next couple of hours, not registering the fear that was plastered onto Eponine's face.

"No thanks, Monsieur Marius, but I better be getting home. I'll see if I can make it, later," She sighed – she would want nothing more than to stroll through the green of the park with the man she loved more than life itself, but she knew her Father's rage would only grow the longer she left returning to him – and with a nod of the head and a brave, but fake, smile she left no room for argument. She didn't want to worry him, but at the same time she wanted him to look after her, protect her, from the harm that was certain to come her way.

Marius didn't push the matter further, and said his goodbyes with a cheerful wave and polite bow and then began his walk to the Café with a confident spring in his step, content after finally meeting up with the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and learning that she returned his feelings.

Eponine, on the other hand turned on the heel of her worn leather boots, and took a deep breath before slowly trudging towards her home where she was sure that her Father would be waiting for her.

* * *

As soon as she stepped foot into the place that she called home, she felt her Father's sweaty, grubby hand wrap round her neck, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she gasped for the air that her lungs were now denied.

"_Hello, 'Ponine,"_ he sneered in a deathly whisper, his putrid breath filling her nostrils and making her want to gag, "Why don't you come and tell me and the boys what happened, hm?"

He dragged her through to another room, which was dimly lit by a couple of nearlly finished candles. Eponine recognised the faces of her Father's gang standing around the room, all of them towered over her, leering and muttering hateful and crude comments as Master Thenadier roughly threw his daughter to the dirty, wooden floor.

Eponine tried to recoil away from the gang of men, breathing heavily as her lungs took in the air they had been deprived of for what felt like years. But the men had moved so that they surrounded her. She was trapped.

They all laughed as Thenardier jerked the young woman from the floor by her long, dark tresses and pushed her towards Montparnasse who chuckled darkly as he gripped her by her shoulders with a tight vice-like hold, and stared at her with his cold, menacing eyes.

"I think you owe us all something, don't you? You ruined something that wasn't yours to ruin. You betrayed _us_, Eponine, and I think you need to make it up to us..." his voice was low and heartless and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and he only grinned – showing what was left of his rotten teeth – as he watched Eponine attempt to squirm out of his grip tears trickling from her chocolate brown eyes which were now wide as saucers with fear. He pressed his lips roughly to her neck and moved his hands down past her waist and Eponine saw red. She may not have had an education but she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't going to let him get his way. She was a Thenardier, after all, fighting was in her blood.

She moved her leg to knee her captor in the crotch, and she screamed bloody murder as he unwillingly let her go to clutch the area she had injured, groaning. She shouted every name and curse she could think of to offend Montparnasse. She waved her fists in his direction, trying to hit him. For a small person, she had a pretty fierce hit.

She was silenced when someone grabbed her from behind, tightly holding her arms behind her back while another planted his ringed fist on her face – causing the brunette to cry out in shock and pain and splutter helplessly as blood ran down her face from her nose and dribble onto the floorboards. Before Eponine could react yet another blow had contacted to her face, and then another. Then more impact began to hit her stomach, her ribs. Then there was a knife. It was an old rusty knife that her Father used to threaten people and over time it had become crusty with blood. The woman shrieked as he pressed it into her stomach and slowly dragged it down. She could feel blood seeping out of the wound and the pain washed over her like a wave. Eponine was sobbing thickly through the blood and the pain when Thenardier finally released her several more punches later, sneering as she crumpled onto the floor like a rag-doll.

The gang of ruthless thugs began to kick the poor young woman, who could do nothing but sob hopelessly and curl into a ball in the hope that it would provide her with some form of protection. They didn't seem to stop, they just kept going. Kicking and punching at every part of her they could and stamping on her long bony fingers, crushing them under their muddy, tattered books like twigs.

"_Never_ do anything like that again, _'Ponine_," Thenardier growled into his daughter's ear once he had crouched beside Eponine's shaking form curled up on the floor, "Or you'll never see the sunrise again, got it?"

There was a whimper from the girl which Thenardier took as her understanding, and with a satisfied grunt he got to his feet, put the knife back into his belt, blew out the candles and led his gang from the building. Leaving Eponine snivelling uncontrollably on her own in the dark.

She laid there for a few moments, fearing that they were going to spring out on her again, but after a while adrenaline kicked in, and Eponine was unsteadily getting to her feet. Her head felt like a block of lead and her entire body throbbed as though it was being hit repeatedly with a hammer. She stumbled through the dark and felt her way out of the building, where she suddenly broke into a run, adrenaline numbing the intense pain which made her entire body feel as if it were on fire.

Eponine was a Thenadier, she was the daughter of the infamous family who were well-known throughout Paris for their crimes and merciless ways. Eponine was never one for violence and crime, but growing up in the slums of the city had forced her to toughen up, just so she could survive – yet here she was, dashing down the cobbled streets, running down alley-ways to avoid the nosy stares of the other citizens that roamed the streets at this time late in the evening and to hide from her Father and his gang, who could be lurking around in the shadows waiting for her. She was already late for Enjolras's meeting, and she didn't want to cause a scene when she finally did turn up. She doubted anyone had noticed that she was missing, but she longed to see her beloved Marius's kind face. His warm, dark eyes and comforting smile that caused a surge of pink fire to rush through her veins and make colour rise to her cheeks. She imagined Marius's strong arms wrapping around her, holding her close – comforting and protecting – and she dreamed of his soft lips grazing her own. The mere thought turned her giddy, and although she knew that she had lost him to that Cosette girl, and he was blind to her love, she still wanted him. She _needed_ him, just now.

Her breath finally ran out after all the running, and the pain was beginning to get too much. Her body screamed for her to rest. She stopped, defeated and after checking to see if anyone had followed her, she slowly slid down the grimy wall of a secluded alley, and sniffing back any more tears she examined her skinny, grubby arms where ugly bruises were already beginning to bloom on her skin. She gingerly reached up and brushed her fingers along her cheek, nose and around her eye area, but she quickly snapped her hands away, hissing in pain. Moving her hands once again, she gently poked at her tender ribs and stomach which made her bite into her sleeve to stop her from crying out as a fresh wave of pain coursed through her body like a poison. Her stab wound was still relentlessly pumping out blood, dying her grey shirt crimson. She finally rubbed her neck where her throat still felt scarily constricted and she knew that bruises similar to those on her arms were beginning to blossom. Licking her lips, Eponine tasted the unappealing metallic liquid and came to the conclusion that it was either from her split lips, tongue, bloody nose or all of the above.

She'd been beaten by her Father and his gang before. Hell, she'd been beaten by so many people, she had lost count. She'd often fight back and escape, with only a few bruises which could easily be concealed. But tonight they were especially ruthless. Eponine thought it was because she was now eighteen, and they thought her able to handle harsher punishments. She felt lucky to be alive...

Taking a deep breath she composed herself, soaked her sleeve in a nearby puddle, and began to dab blindly at her wounds, wincing, trying to clean herself up a bit and wipe away as much of the blood as she could. She highly doubted that the students wanted to see her looking grimier than she already did, and she didn't want a fuss. She didn't want the questions, all she wanted was to forget...

Once again, she got to her feet but had only staggered a couple of wobbly steps before her head seared with pain like it had just been sliced open with a knife, and the world began to spin. The blinding pain in her stomach also took over her body, making her double over and stumble into an adjacent wall. She forgot where she was, and where she was going yet she just clutched to her head and stomach with one hand to each and tried desperately to keep moving. She wanted Marius, so that was what she would do.

Suddenly there was a blackness, darker than any night Eponine had ever seen, and faster than lightening. It consumed her within a matter of seconds.

The last thing Eponine remembered was the ground opening up and swallowing her whole.

* * *

**Soooo? Was it ok? Please let me know if it was, and if it wasn't - how to improve! There is another chapter on the way because I have a Vague (when I say vague I mean vague!) idea of where this could go. I just write and see where it takes me mostly, haha :')**

**Thaaanks **


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: hello again! :) this was a speedy update because I'm very excited about this story... My family have called me unsociable so much over the past day or so! haha! Anyway, this chapter is a bit slow I think - it's more of a filler, I suppose. **

**Please read it anyway, and let me know what you thought in a review? Thanks xx**

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Gavroche cheered noisily as Enjolras finished his final speech of equality and justice for the evening, clapping loudly in agreement and beaming in admiration at the handsome man who stood in front of him.

Enjolras smiled and nodded appreciatively as he gazed around the Café with his deep brown eyes, silently thanking all of his friends and revolutionaries for standing with him and he couldn't help but grin as he laid eyes on the little boy of no more than ten, who was enthusiastically applauding him. As much as the leader didn't think it wise to allow a young boy to take part in such a dangerous thing like this revolution they were planning, he couldn't get the boy to go away! Plus, if the boy came to the Café, Enjolras could buy him some much needed hot food and keep him off the streets that were even more dangerous when the sun had set, especially for such a young boy.

"That was _AMAZIN' _Monsieur Enjolras!" Gavroche cried as he approached his idol to wish him goodnight before he retired to his usual sleeping spot, down a quiet, desolate alley away from the loud centre of Paris.

Enjolras was never really one for receiving compliments – he preferred people to just agree with him, not _congratulate_ – and shifted uncomfortably on the spot, adjusting his cravat and shirt, modestly mumbling, "Anyone can string a few words together, Gavroche – it was nothing.." but he ruffled the boys hair through his torn, scruffy cap, fondly all the same. He had become something of a little brother to the student, "Have you seen Eponine, today?" he suddenly asked. He had been looking out for her for the entire meeting, spying for her beige trench coat and tangled mess of brunette hair, he enjoyed listening to her witty remarks and sarcastic comments that she contributed to the group, but she never showed. Enjolras couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed.

Gavroche frowned, realising that she was, indeed, absent from the group. She never missed a meeting, really. Not if her beloved Marius was here... "No, as a matter of fact, I haven't..." he admitted, giving the area one last sweep with his large eyes before shrugging, "I'm sure there's good reason, though. She loves it 'ere.."

Enjolras's face clouded with concern for a moment, his eyebrows momentarily knitting together, before, he changed back to his usual composed state. Gavroche, however, had already seen and decided to store this information at the back of his mind for later.

"Can I get you a drink?" Enjolras asked, smiling at him once again, changing the topic away from the missing female street urchin. He patted the young boys shoulder, kindly.

The street child wasn't usually one for affection, he wasn't used to it! He had grown up in a world of punishment and beatings before he ran away, but he found himself _enjoying_ the sentiments from Enjolras. He liked the way that he respected him, treated him like one of his own kind. He _Cared_.

"Nah, thanks, Monsieur. I'm gonna get goin'" he said, reluctantly. However much he enjoyed Enjolras's company, he hated the thought of becoming a burden to him – especially with a revolution to plan.

Enjolras smiled, sadly. He hated to know that the boy was sleeping on the cold, hard streets exposed to the dangers of both people and the elements all alone, and guilt sat heavily in his heart. "At least take this" The man walked behind the counter, and after slipping a couple of coins into the hand of the owner, he ladled some broth into a large ale mug before grabbing a roll from the side and handing it to the hungry child, who automatically clasped it within his grip. At least he would have the soup to warm his insides.

Gavroche's muddy brown eyes widened, "But, Monsieur, you've already given me food for today!"

He tried to hand the mug and bread back, but inside he was ever so grateful – he hadn't eaten properly for weeks and his stomach growled loudly as the savoury aroma of the soup wafted past his nostrils – but he didn't want to come across as a greedy street urchin, and his pride refused to accept more food from this kind man, unwilling to take advantage of his good will, knowing that there was no way that he could pay him back. He may be a street rat who steals from those who have more than their fair share of valuables, but he did have _some_ manners – especially where Enjolras was concerned. It was fair to say that he looked up to the leader with more admiration than he had ever felt for anyone before.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow when he heard Gavroche's hungry stomach rumble, and playfully put his hands behind his back so he couldn't take the food that the young boy was offering him to take back. He smirked as he watched Gavroche's internal debate. He knew why he was trying to give the food back, and he also knew that he wanted desperately to devour the substances before it went cold. Beneath his baggy, tattered rags, Enjolras could see that the child was extremely underweight, and decided that he would do everything he could to help improve his health, even if that meant forcing food upon him.

"You know, Gavroche, it's recommended that people eat _three_ meals a day..." he pointed out, smugly, "and you're a growing boy."

Gavroche looked at him for a moment longer, trying to work out whether this was a test to his honesty, to see whether he accepted the food and greedily wolfed it down or returned it as he hadn't rightfully earned it, or paid for it.

Staring into Enjolras's deep brown eyes, he saw nothing but good will and kindness. So with the biggest grin he could muster, Gavroche thanked his friend and tipped his cap as he said his farewells before turning to the door, taking a hungry bite at the bread.

Enjolras watched the child leave, before he turned to see Grantaire staring at him with lazy green eyes, leaning on a table. The drunk smirked and raised an eyebrow before swatting his friend playfully on the shoulder, "Y'old softy," he slurred, taking another swig of ale from his mug, and muttering curses when some of the beverage sloshed over the side of the cup and down his shirt. Enjolras handed him a handkerchief, from his pocket. "The boy deserves _some _form of affection, Grantaire – you'd do the same, I'm sure." Enjolras stated. This _was_ part of the reason why he enjoyed making Gavroche happy, but it was also because he could see himself in the young boy. He was full of the same sort of confidence, determination, hope, stubbornness and pride that was in him, so in a way he counted the child as family. A little brother and he supposed in some ways he saw him as a kind of son figure. He was also the exact type of person that this revolution was for – so people such as Gavroche, born into poverty could stand a chance of justice and equality for their future.

"Have you seen Eponine today?" Enjolras asked his friend, trying to sound indifferent. He wasn't able to put the fact that she wasn't there to rest – she was always present! Something just _felt_ wrong.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow once again, and opened his mouth to say something when Marius wandered over, the stupid, lovesick dreamy smile still plastered on his face as if it had been drawn on with ink and spoke before the drunk had the chance. "Are you talking about Eponine? She told me she needed to go home. She took me to see Cosette, Enjolras, and she is even more perfect than I'd remembered her! I was hoping 'Ponine would come at some point, though. I want to revisit my beloved and I'm not too sure of the way..."

Enjolras inwardly cringed. Everyone in the Café apart from the vital person was all too aware of the street urchin's infatuation towards Monsieur Pontmercy and to know that she had sacrificed her own happiness in order for him to feel content was both admirable and pitiful. Enjolras knew that there were people in Paris who would be able to see past her dirt and grime, and see the beautiful young woman beneath... He knew all too well.

* * *

Gavroche made his way down a few roads, hugging the mug of soup to his chest with the roll balanced on top as a make-shift lid to keep the heat of the food in, and when he couldn't fight the hunger any longer he sat on the wet corner of a deserted street, happily slurping soup and munching the bread. It was still warm inside, and he couldn't remember the last time a meal was so enjoyable. Once he had consumed every scrap of bread, and swallowed every last drop of broth he jumped to his feet and continued his walk home, humming random notes and jumping from cobble to cobble in some childish game of stepping-stones. It was when he was alone and content that Gavroche finally felt as though he could truly be the child he was – he no longer had to be serious and alert, ready to run from the Police who wanted to escort him away for his crimes or gangs who wanted someone small enough to squeeze through small gaps to steal things for them, only to get nothing in return.

He stared at the moon, and smiled. He liked the calmness of the night. There were always less people around and everything was more beautiful under the cool silvery glow of the stars.

He was still humming when he strolled down an alley leading to the one he called "home" when he saw a bundle of rags on the floor. Being the curious child that he was, he slowly edged closer – realising that it was infact a body! He saw a familiar beige coat and his stomach flipped, threatening to send his meal up this throat. He crouched beside the form, and with his hands he brushed away the sticky clumps of dark hair, revealing the face he was dreading to see.

"'PONINE!" he cried in disbelief. He looked at his hands, which now felt wet and sticky, and saw they were coated with red. Time seemed to stop, and Gavroche forgot how to breathe.

"Eponine? Eponine, can ya hear me?" He rolled the girl onto her back as gently as he could, tears of intense panic already falling, leaving pale streaks in his dirty face. Fear gripped him like a relentless icy hand as he saw the scary amount of blood pooled around her stomach, and he gingerly placed his ear to her chest. He could hear a faltering _thump thump_ of her heart, and let out a shaky sigh of relief. She wasn't dead. Yet.

"Eponine, I'm gonna get help, ok?" he addressed the lifeless form, stroking her bloody face sadly, "It's gonna be ok. You _can't_ leave me. You promised..."

And with that, he sprinted back to the first place he could think of to get help. As he neared the Café he hoped that the students were still there. He half-laughed half-sobbed with relief when he saw the lights shining through the windows, and legged it as fast as his little legs could carry him.

He burst though the heavy wooden door, throwing it open with such force that it banged against the wall, the noise echoing through the room, silencing any conversation that was going on.

There were a number of mumblings that came from various men around the Café, but it was one voice in particular that the child honed in on.

"Gavroche!" Enjolras said, surprised that he would see his youngest revolutionary again so soon – he'd only said goodbye about twenty or so minutes ago. Then he took in his appearance.

Gavroche's face was devoid of colour, Enjolras didn't think he had ever seen anyone look so pale, and his eyes were wide as dinner plates and they portrayed pain, distress, desperation and a fear so intense that it was a wonder the boy was still standing. Tears were freely flowing from the brown orbs, and he was visibly trembling as if he was desperately trying not to crumple onto the floor, and break into uncontrollable hysterics.

Even though Gavroche's emotional state broke his heart, it was his hands and clothes that made Enjolras's blood run cold. The boy's hands were coated in the unmistakable red colour that could only come from blood, and smears of it were over his trousers and shirt.

Rushing over and kneeling so he was about the same height as the child, he placed his warm hands on his tiny shoulders, calming his shaking only slightly, and asked gently yet urgently, "Gavroche, what's happened? Are you hurt?"

The street urchin looked at him, and shook his head, sadly, "My sister..." he whispered brokenly, "... P-please help her."

Gavroche's eyes silently begged for help, and everyone in the café was soon on their feet, ready for the boy to show them to his sister. Most of them were entirely bewildered – Enjolras included – as they never knew that the child who they had seemingly adopted even _had_ a family. He had never mentioned any relatives before, and they had all just assumed that he was solitary.

"Where is she?"

Gavroche gulped down a sob and took a shaky breath, "D-d-down an a-alley, Monsieur. I c-can s-show you."

"We don't need all of you!" Grantaire sighed incredulously, suddenly very much sober as he turned to address the large crowd that had got to their feet and were waiting for directions on how to get to this mystery girl, "Look, I don't mean to be rude – I know you're simply wanting to help, and that's much appreciated, I'm sure, but if she's down an alleyway, then I think it's safe to say that you're not all going to fit."

Enjolras nodded in agreement with his best friend, slightly surprised at his quick logic. When he was sober, he was actually rather quick witted and smart, much like Enjolras, himself.

"Grantaire, Joly? Come with me." Enjolras was keen to get going, and his thanks to the group who were eager to help would have to come another time when a life wasn't possibly at risk.

Grantaire and the medical student nodded and briskly followed their leader and their youngest friend outside. The cool night air hit them like a smack in the face – when did it get so cold?

"Follow me!" Gavroche suddenly shouted, and broke into a run. His feet pounding the floor as his speed quickly increased.

Saying he was fast was an understatement. The three men struggled to keep up with the boy, as he weaved round buildings and sharply turned numerous corners, splashing through endless puddles, soaking their smart black trousers and possibly ruining their polished black shoes. It was like he was navigating them through an oversized stone maze. How he managed to remember where he was going was beyond anyone.

Without looking back, Gavroche darted towards the young woman he had left. She was now mumbling incoherent words and whimpering, pitifully.

The boy gently stroked her face, hushing her quietly, trying to console his sister who was clearly very disorientated and in a lot of pain. He waved the men over, who seemed to still be running up to the siblings.

Grantaire, Enjolras and Joly were all touched by Gavroche's display of care and love towards his sister, who was scarily familiar to a girl they knew.

"I brought help, 'Ponine. You can't leave me. You _promised_ you wouldn't! You _can't_!" Gavroche muttered to the now unconscious form, shaking her shoulder firmly as if to keep her awake. "_You promised me, 'Ponine_!"

The men's eyes widened as they heard the child's last desperate plea to his sister. _'Ponine_.

The girl lying on the cobbles, unconscious and soaked in her own blood was the same girl who came to the Café every day.

The same girl who made sarcastic and witty remarks every two minutes and joined in with friendly banter thrown her way.

The same beautiful woman who hid herself under boys rags.

The same young woman who pined relentlessly after Marius.

She was Gavroche's _sister_.

And right now, Eponine was probably dying.

* * *

**I know that everyone seems a bit OOC, but I wanted to show a different side to Enjolras and Gavroche. I don't know. Things will go a bit more normally within the next few chapters, I think... maybe. Let me know what you think? Thank youuuuu :) xx**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hey, sorry this update took forever - I struggled to get this chapter going, and I'm so disappointed with it but I feel that I needed to post something, and soon. I prefer to write from Eponine's POV really, and found this chapter really hard. Sorry! Please don't throw tomatoes at me - the next one will be better, I swear!**

* * *

Joly was the first person to spring into action. Being the medical student that he was, he quickly moved to Eponine's side to examine her stomach, knowing that it was far too dangerous to bleed such amounts. He gently pushed Gavroche to one side, and Enjolras slotted his strong arms under the child's arms, lifting him from his kneeling position on the wet stone floor and pulling him backwards towards him in order to give Joly enough space and light to preform a hasty examination. He was stunned at how light Gavroche was – it was almost as though he had no mass at all and Enjolras was simply moving air.

Gavroche seemed to be broken from the trance he was apparently trapped in, and he looked at the dark haired man briefly before looking back to his sister, "She promised me, Monsieur. She promised I would never be alone..."

Enjolras felt his heart break. "But you're not alone, Gavroche. You've got all of us – also, if Eponine is half as stubborn as she portrays herself as, I highly doubt she's going to be going anywhere anytime soon." he tried to make his voice sound comforting, and he smiled in the hope that it looked supportive and convincing. He couldn't let the poor boy know that he, too, feared for the young woman's life which was hanging on by a thread.

The boy's dark eyes widened slightly at Enjolras's words, their sparkle flashing back momentarily, and a flicker of the flame of hope was slowly rekindled, before it was extinguished within seconds. "I've never seen her _this_ bad, though... I've never seen so much... so much... blood." he whispered the last part, shuddering beneath his dirty rags, barely able to get the words to escape his cracked lips.

Enjolras frowned. What did Gavroche mean by saying he's never seen her _this bad_ – surely she wasn't beaten to a pulp on a regular basis? The thought of his only female friend being battered made him want to vomit. She was only a slight thing, and so she probably couldn't put up much of a fight to a fully grown adult male. He wanted to cry at the thought of her being all alone, scared and hurt – while her friends were all laughing and drinking in the Café, oblivious to the seriousness of her absence – he vowed to never let this happen to her again, even if that meant he escorted her everywhere. As long as she was safe.

He looked over at Joly who had removed his cravat and was holding it to Eponine's bleeding stomach, Grantaire had done the same and passed the material to the student, confused as to what the material could possibly do to help the situation. Following in the footsteps of his friends, Enjolras tore his ebony cravat from around his neck and knelt beside his friend, helping to apply pressure to the wound.

"We need to get her somewhere, Enjolras," Joly muttered under his breath, so that only the man beside him could hear, "She's bleeding out and needs urgent stitches... And the lighting here is too dark for me to perform a proper examination."

"We could get her to the hospital?" he suggested desperately.

Joly raised an eyebrow, "Do you really think they'd help a street urchin like Eponine? Anyway, she wouldn't make it in time, the hospital's too far..." his voice began to shake with panic as it dawned on him that they might not be able to save Eponine.

"Take her to mine! My flat's just past the Café!" Enjolras retorted without a flicker of hesitation. He didn't mind about turning his flat into a temporary hospital for his friend. Plus, it also helped him to keep a much needed eye on her.

Grantaire didn't even check to see if the leader meant what he said, and after a quick glance at Joly to check if what he was about to do was correct, the man went to scoop the girl into his arms, only when he got closer and saw all the blood up close, he suddenly felt rather woozy and staggered backwards. With an irritated roll of his dark eyes, Enjolras himself slipped is arms gently behind Eponine's neck and then behind her knees and slowly lifted her off the ground – he wasn't phased by blood, and couldn't care less about staining his white cotton shirt. With a nod at Joly the man began to quickly stride towards his home, trying not to dwell on how light his friend was in his arms or how her face looked a dangerous ghostly white as if there was no blood left in her body.

* * *

Enjolras carefully laid Eponine onto his bed, and watched as Joly rushed in with his medical aids that he had sprinted off to get from his own flat opposite. Grantaire was in the room next door, trying to keep Gavroche away from seeing the worst of his sister's injuries. Enjolras didn't want to think of it, but he had decided that if Eponine didn't make it then the last memories Gavroche would have from her was her ghastly cut, bruises and _lots_ of blood. Plus, the boy was only 10, he wouldn't be able to cope with watching Joly perform his special procedures on his sister. He winced when Joly removed her tattered belt and used a scalpel to tear the seam of her shirt, allowing easy access to her most dangerous wound on her stomach.

Eponine's entire torso seemed to be covered in red and purple blotches. There were some yellow patches too, remnants of old bruises which were finally healing, but they were barely visible in comparison to the plum coloured splodges that littered her body like daisies in a field. And the cut which definitely came from a knife of some description was a few centimetres long, and just below her navel. He couldn't see properly from where he was standing, but it looked pretty deep. _Whoever did this was relentless. Sick bastard, how does he sleep at night?_ Enjolras thought to himself in anguish. He hated being so helpless and useless. He swore that he would never let anyone lay a finger on Eponine ever again, unless to show love or comfort – and even then was there an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach...

It was a distressed sigh from the medical student which made the dark haired leader alert, once more, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Joly looked pained and looked at the woman sadly before turning to Enjolras, shifting from foot to foot and wringing his blood-coated hands, with a grim expression painted onto his features, "The stab wound. I've managed to stop the bleeding, but I, err... I fear that the blade has damaged her womb. I- I don't think Eponine will ever be able to bear children, Enjolras..." his voice was laced with frustration and pain that he couldn't completely fix the woman lying on the bed.

The pair stood in an uncomfortable silence, acknowledging the recent news. Both stared pityingly towards the brunette who was still lying unconscious. Neither knew of how they could tell her what they knew.

So they decided though a silent, unspoken agreement that they would wait and cross that bridge when they came to it.

Enjolras felt terrible. He didn't know if all women were alike, but he knew that many dreamed of raising children and having a family – even those who claimed to _loathe_ the very idea, decided eventually that it could be rather pleasant, after all. He felt as though a piece of him had been destroyed at the knowledge that there would never be any little Eponine's running about Paris – long dark waves of hair billowing in the breeze as they played, deep brown eyes wide and shining with glee, giggling like their Mother – free from poverty and the unjust society that would no longer stand after his revolution. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt so upset, but he told himself that he was sad for his friend. Yes, that was it.

Enjolras stayed by his friends side throughout the entire night while Joly worked, he did his best to help despite his lack of medical knowledge, by gently wiping the blood from Eponine's face and body with a strip of cloth, pressing some ice to her swollen face and covering her exposed body with a blanket to keep her warm and to preserve what little dignity she had left. Once Joly had bandaged up her three broken fingers and around her ribs, put her shoulder back into the socket and placed the arm in a sling, realigned her nose (it was now of it's original shape, albeit swollen and alarmingly red) and stitched, covered her stab wound and replaced her dirty, torn shirt which had been removed with one of Enjolras's own, they allowed Gavroche to finally enter the room. It was now gone midnight, and the poor boy looked exhausted, with the dark circles contrasting frightfully to the paleness of his face which was sodden with tears and relentless worry. Grantaire followed in suite, looking equally worried and clutching a bottle of some spirit. He was sober enough to register the sombre looks on their faces throw a look at Enjolras and Joly, silently asking to be filled in – and they returned a look to him which read as: _Not now. _Which the drunk accepted with a curt nod, making his sandy coloured locks bob.

The boy immediately rushed to his sister's side, hardly daring to touch her. He sat down on the stool Enjolras had cleverly placed there for this purpose, and let his fingertips gingerly brush the part of her face which was least swollen and bruised. She looked so very fragile, like she would break at the slightest amount of pressure. Her face which was usually tanned from the long days spent in the French sun and it was now a sickly shade of white, like snow, and the dark bruises looked sore and tender. She looked so weak without her deep coffee coloured eyes burning into whatever they met with their passion, determination and ferocity, and she didn't even look like she was peacefully sleeping – her face looked troubled and her eyebrows were set in a position that resembled a slight frown – and her lips which were normally a beautiful shade of dark pink were now pale and her mouth hung open ever so slightly, revealing her front teeth, which were surprisingly rather white and healthy looking for someone who lived on the streets.

"She's gunna be ok, right? She's gunna make it?" He asked the group, and beamed a toothy grin when Joly nodded, albeit rather solemnly. "Ya gave me quite a scare, sis... Don't even _think_ about doing it again!" he addressed his sister, and chuckled with relief, visibly relaxing his small little shoulders that had been hunched for the past few hours.

Joly, Grantaire and Enjolras all felt equally uncomfortable standing there, feeling as though they were eavesdropping on what seemed to be a private moment between the siblings, and they all quietly backed out of the bedroom and into the living quarters where Grantaire helped himself to another bottle of alcohol from Enjolras's disused drinks cabinet, and Joly flopped into the soft armchair by the fireplace, overcome with relief, frustration and exhaustion.

"So how's it looking?" Grantaire asked Joly, who shook his head sadly.

"I did what I could, but-"

Grantaire urged him to finish with his intense gaze, his hazel eyes boring into him.

"I don't think she's ever going to get to have children.." the medical student sighed, defeated, placing his head in his hands, which were still covered in Eponine's blood.

Grantaire wasn't expecting this at all, and suddenly the pleasant clouding in his brain caused by the alcohol he has been gulping was gone and he felt just as sober as he did when they found the injured street urchin. He opened his mouth to try to comfort his friend, who was clearly overwhelmed by guilt for not making her completely better, but no words came. Instead, he placed a strong hand on his shoulder and Joly acknowledged this with a weak smile.

Enjolras, meanwhile, paced across the wooden floorboards, one hand on his chin and the other apparently tapping mid-air, his dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown that showed intense thought and concentration, "Who did this to her?" he questioned out loud, his tone laced with a mixture of confusion and anger alongside many other undistinguishable emotions. He was addressing nobody in particular, so the other men just stared at him, knowing of their friend's pacing tendencies once he got stressed or worked-up, it was best to let him get it out of his system.

"I mean, how old is she? Seventeen? Eighteen at the very most, surely... She's practically a child! Who could harm a young woman like this?" He continued, the questions pouring out of his mouth like word-vomit. His pacing quickened.

"Enjolras, stop," Joly interrupted, his voice stern, "That doesn't matter right now, what _does_ matter is that she's alive – however miraculous that may be – and working yourself up isn't going to do any of us any good."

Grantaire nodded his head in agreement, still unable to form words. He had seen Enjolras worked-up and wished never to witness it again.

Enjolras looked at his friends before snatching the bottle from Grantaire and taking a large gulp of the spirit and flopping into the other spare chair, "I'm sorry. It's just, how can I save a nation when I can't even protect one poor girl from harm?" he sighed.

"Eponine is a pretty private person, Enjolras" Grantaire stated, truthfully, his words returning to him. His voice was shockingly crisp and well-spoken despite the alcohol that poisoned his system, "No one knew she was in trouble – not even little Gavroche! And you never know, this might have been a random attack, she could've simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The other two men looked at Grantaire, surprised once again by his thinking. When he wasn't completely lost under the influence of alcohol he was a pretty decent thinker. They both nodded to acknowledge Grantaire's point before settling down into a contemplative silence.

They were broken from their thoughts when Grantaire spoke up once more, "Does Marius know what's going on?"

To be honest, Marius Pontmercy hadn't even occurred to Enjolras's thoughts – despite the fact that Eponine and he were best friends, and the young woman clearly worshipped the ground he walked on, he didn't want Marius to come along now, selfish as it may sound. Marius had never stated an interest in the brunette before and he didn't want her to wake up and think it was all Pontmercy's idea to save her, giving her false hopes that he harboured affections of love for her. He secretly hoped that if Marius wasn't present when she awoke, she would see that there were other men who would do good for her, and cared...

"It's late," he said. "Marius is asleep, no doubt dreaming of his beloved angel. We'll tell him in the morning when the time's right."

There was something undefinable in Enjolras's tone which told the other men that his word was final, and Marius was not to be summoned. Both wondered why he had addressed the matter so coldly, and shared a questioning glance but not saying anything else on the matter.

An uneasy silence fell into the room, and no-one spoke for a while before they all fell slowly into an uncomfortable slumber.

The three men were startled awake a when a certain ten year old boy flung open the bedroom door to cry "SHE'S AWAKE!"

They looked around at each other, dazed and confused for a moment and then realisation set in. All three simultaneously jumped up and followed Gavroche into the bedroom, rubbing their sore necks from their uncomfortable positions in which they had passed the last few hours with.

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**Yeah, I know, it's sucky. Please don't lose faith! It's hopefully going to pick up soon - and the update shouldn't be too far away! **

**Please Review me your thoughts, so I can log them into my brain and make this story better! haha :')**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Ok, I am so so so sorry for how delayed this is! aah! :( I tried so hard to get it out, but no, my brain and my life decided to make it impossible. I have been working and attending a few social gatherings while the weather is nice(ish) and I was so desperate to get something up that I cut off the end of this chapter and made it the start of the next one, so I apologise for the lameness of this! Please forgive me? I know that Eponine's wounds are very, hm... cringey, but I assure you that there is a reason for this so please just go along with it for now? haha, once again I am so sorry. **

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Eponine slowly began to regain the use of her senses. She remembered falling onto the cold, wet floor of the alley – but if that was true, why could she feel soft, warm material under her fingers? And when did cobble-stones become so comfy? She could smell a familiar scent that she couldn't place, but it wasn't the same smell of grime and dirt that infected her nostrils last time. It was more like parchment, books and soap. It was oddly warm and comforting. She felt a slight weight on her shoulder, and it was this which compelled her to open her bleary eyes. As she looked around, her eyes beginning to focus, she took in her surroundings: she was in a bedroom it seemed, and everywhere she looked there seemed to be books. Shelves of books, piles of books and books laid open on a desk surrounded by paper which looked as though they contained notes. On the walls hung a crimson red flag. Was she in the room of a revolutionary? If so, whose?

Even more confused, she focused on the mass that was pushing on her shoulder. Her eyes were greeted with the top of a familiar tattered, faded greeny-brown cap that she would recognise anywhere. Gavroche. Why was he here? Why was _she _here? _Where even is here_? All these thoughts rained on Eponine like a monsoon, and she tried to sit up in a position which would give her an easier view of her surroundings. Pain suddenly rippled through her body at the movement like fire and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth to ride out the unpleasant sensation that was situated around her stomach area.

Hearing Eponine's noise, Gavroche was suddenly very much alert, "Eponine?!"

The brunette smiled slightly, before realising how much it hurt her aching face, "Didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?" she chuckled, raising her hand to ruffle his hair and noticing the bandages for the first time. "Um... Where are we?"

Gavroche shook his head, grinning, completely ignoring her question – knowing that if she knew that she was in the bed of the leader of the Les Amis, she would panic and try to rush off, hating that she had burdened such a busy man who was not her beloved, but blind, Marius – and slowly stood up from the seat he had been sitting on, Eponine noted that it can't have been very comfortable – surely he hadn't been sitting there long? _How long have I been here? _She suddenly thought, panic settling in. This wasn't her home – and if she'd been away for too long her Father wouldn't be too impressed as he wouldn't be able to use her to get him his money. She needed to leave, before the consequences of her absence became too severe. She tried once again to move, trying her best to ignore the discomfort.

A firm, but gentle hand slowly pushed her back down against the soft white pillows and Gavroche looked at her with a worried expression, but a small smile was still tugging at the corners of his lips, and his eyes seemed to glitter with such relief and happiness that Eponine couldn't help but relax, and smile back, fondly, at her brother. "Stay," he demanded in the way you would address a dog. Eponine would be annoyed, but she saw the teasing smirk on Gavroche's face, and her head was pounding so she just huffed in mock irritation and settled back into a sitting position.

Gavroche practically skipped across the room and poked his head out of the large wooden door, shouting into the room outside, and within seconds three familiar men darted in and stood at the foot of the large bed, staring at Eponine.

"Hello," Joly murmured, not quite meeting Eponine's eyes but smiling at her, warmly, all the same. He still felt guilty about not being able to completely repair her, but still felt pleased that she was alive and also rather proud that it was him who managed to stop her life from slipping away.

Eponine studied him. She rarely spoke to Joly, but they had conversed from time to time in-between speeches at the Café and when she was waiting for Marius, and she knew that he was a medical student. He was a kind-hearted and honest man, and right now he looked as though he was harbouring some massive secret – shifting uncomfortably and wringing his hands. "Hello," she replied, "I assume it was you who fixed me?"

Joly nodded, "Y-yes, I tried my best.." he trailed off towards the end of his sentence.

"Is this your home?" Eponine blurted out, her inquisitive nature getting the better of her.

"No, it's mine – I hope that's not too much trouble," Enjolras answered, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips as he watched her jaw drop in surprise.

It was Grantaire who spoke next, "You gave us quite a scare, there, Eponine" he smiled kindly, sympathy etched onto his face.

Eponine was surprised to hear such a sincere-sounding sentence come from the drunk's mouth. He seemed a bit paler than usual and he wasn't slurring his words, indicating that the man was actually sober. A state that the brunette had never seen Grantaire. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, smiling back.

Enjolras's face was one of concern as he approached the girl who still looked dangerously frail. He knelt down beside the bed, "How are you feeling?" his warm chocolate eyes searched her face for any signs of discomfort or distress.

Gavroche watched from the sidelines, noting the expressions on each person's face – living on the streets and depending on people to survive had made him surprisingly adapt at reading people's facial expressions and body language, for he had to know when he was being led on or lied to – The three men all looked strangely guilty and sympathetic, Joly especially looked like her was hiding something from himself and his sister, but Enjolras's body language not only read as sympathy, but his caring gestures such as kneeling to be of the same level as Eponine's face, and gently brushing away a strand of hair before staring into her eyes as if she was the only other person in the room made Gavroche think that there may be something else other than this suspicious kind of sympathy hidden away within him.

"I'm fine," Eponine tried to assure him, grinning unconvincingly, "I am very grateful for your help, and I promise I'll be more careful in the future but I really must be going now!" She threw back the duvet and attempted to swing herself out of the bed when the pain in her stomach overwhelmed her, making her freeze and take a sharp intake of breath.

"You can't go yet, mademoiselle! You need bed rest so your body can heal!"

Eponine composed herself, "You don't understand Joly – I feel fine! I just really need to get going, things to do, people to see..." she tried to speak in a light sing-song voice to not to let the panic leak into her voice, but it came out horridly rushed and higher pitched. Once again she attempted to move, gasping and wincing as she struggled to push herself off the mattress.

This time Enjolras firmly placed her back into bed, pulling the quilt up to her chest, and then he sat on one edge of it, and Grantaire sat on the other, trapping her. "You're staying put."

Eponine was grateful that her friends cared, but she was growing frustrated and panic was bubbling away inside her – and she feared that it would soon bubble over. "No, you don't understand – _I need_ _to go_!" tears were starting to form in her eyes, and threatened to spill. Thoughts of her Father and his gang flashed into her head, and she couldn't bear to think of the things that they would do if she wasn't there to meet their every desire. Suddenly she began to recall just what happened last night – the room, the gang, the beating and the knife – they were especially harsh that night, and Eponine wasn't sure if it was because she has just turned eighteen and could now withstand stronger punishments, or just because she had made them spectacularly angry. She shuddered at the memory, and she began to tremble with fear. Just how close had she been to dying? Her own Father would've had a hand in her murder. Not that anyone would care, anyway - she was just another street rat.

Gavroche, Joly, Grantaire and Enjolras watched the young woman grow increasingly frightened and it broke their hearts. Who had her scared to the point that she would put them over letting herself recover from a highly traumatic event? Was it the same person who beat her black-and-blue and left her to die?

"Who did this, 'Ponine?" Gavroche whispered, sadly. He had always looked to his sister in admiration as she was always strong as a rock, no matter what life threw at her she would still be standing with her head held high, but now she was a crumpled mess, fearful and crying and in pain – both physically and emotionally. It hurt him to see the sister who had always been so tough, look so weak – and even though he was only ten, he decided that he would do anything to show whoever did this to her that they should never mess with a Thenardier.

Eponine shook her head, "It doesn't matter, 'Roche. I deserved it and I've learnt my lesson," she couldn't look Gavroche in the eye, and the little boy knew straight away that she was lying.

"I don't believe you."

"Well you should."

"'Ponine, Who did -"

"Just leave it, alright? I don't want to talk about it!" she didn't mean to snap at her brother, and regretted it almost instantly. She forced herself to look at him, to see the hurt in his eyes. She opened her mouth to apologise but he shook his head, his face growing stiff and angry.

"I'll be back later, if I may?" he addressed the room in a monotonous voice, but asking the last bit to Enjolras in a slightly warmer tone. The student nodded, and without another word the child walked out of the flat.

Gavroche wasn't completely cross with his sister, he was hurt that she snapped at him but any fool could see that she was just scared. He decided that he needed to give her space and she would open up eventually. He nearly lost his sister, last night. He couldn't recall ever feeling so scared before, so helpless.

The gamin headed to his recluse in his alleyway. He needed some sleep, and had a feeling it would come easier now he knew his big sister was away from death's door.

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Grantaire and Joly soon apologised and said they had classes to attend, and Joly informed the young woman of the things she must and must not do while he was gone before leaving Enjolras (who had no lectures today) and Eponine alone.

There was a fairly awkward silence between the two, but Eponine had finally given in and accepted the fact that she was confined to the bed so Enjolras had been able to leave the room and make her some food in the kitchen feeling content that she would not attempt to leave and put her body at any further risk.

When he returned with a tray of bread and butter and eggs with a glass of milk he saw Eponine gazing out of his bedroom window at the view of Paris. It was an overcast day: muggy weather with grey clouds that loomed over the city, but the student got the impression that she wasn't even looking at the view, but into some distant faraway place within her mind. He didn't think she even heard him come in, so he cleared his throat to alert her of his presence.

Hearing the noise, Eponine was partly ripped from the memories of last night, which were slowly becoming clearer and more detailed. She could remember her Father's rotten breath in her ear, Montparnasse's large grubby hands groping her waist and some other person's fist contacting with her face. She shuddered, and blinked rapidly, realising that her vision had become clouded with tears. _Get a hold of yourself, 'Ponine!_ She scolded herself, sternly. She never let herself dwell on these things for too long – self pity got you nowhere, and it's not like she wasn't used to it – these things happened, there was nothing she could do about it, so she may as well just forget about it and move on with her pathetic excuse of a life.

Enjolras looked at the young woman curiously. She was blinking quickly and frowning to herself, when he saw a tear slide down her cheek he placed the tray onto his desk and rushed to her side. "Hey," he soothed her, wiping away the drop of water.

Eponine completely snapped out of her reverie to see the young revolutionary by her side, his hand cupping her face gently, his deep intelligent eyes searching her own. This surprised her. It was a well known fact to everyone who knew him that Enjolras was one to rarely show affection to anything or anyone apart from his Patria, "a man of marble" they called him. Yet here he was, comforting her. She started to wonder if the rumours were true. Then the even more unexpected happened.

Enjolras's heart acted of it's own accord, and his arms reached out and enveloped the woman into an embrace. He felt her tense slightly as he pulled her against him, but eventually she relaxed – sighing into his shirt. Then she realised. The warm parchment/soap smell that she enjoyed and found comfort in was _him_. She continued to breathe in his scent when she felt the hum of his voice in his chest, "Tell me, Eponine."

No-one needed to specify what he was referring to. And Eponine pulled away from him, avoiding his eyes which seemed to make her _want_ to tell him everything. She couldn't tell him. She barely knew the man, and she thought there was a possibility that he could try and be all brave and noble and try and face her Father and his gang, but they would kill him without a second thought. She couldn't live with that on her conscience. She shook her head.

Enjolras knew from the stories Marius had occasionally told that Eponine was a stubborn thing, and it would take a lot to break her. Enjolras was also an infuriatingly stubborn character, and was more than determined to get information out of the gamine. _This could be a long day_ he thought to himself with a wry smirk.

He realised that the woman was avoiding eye-contact, and that was one of the first sign of cracking. He could win this. He stared into her coffee coloured locks, knowing that she could feel his gaze.

Eponine looked up at the young man who could be no more than twenty two, and saw that he was staring at her with such intensity that she wanted to shudder. But this wasn't the same kind of intense that came from when the likes of her Father looked at her, it wasn't cold and filled with malice. It was full of what seemed to be care. _Could he really care for someone like me?_ She thought, _ why would a powerful, rich, charming young man like Enjolras – who is apparently made __of marble – be concerned about someone like me? A thief. A dirty, poor, uneducated criminal._ But his face showed the opposite to what she expected to see. She thought that Enjolras was a passionate man, but only for his beloved Patria. France was the one thing that he truly loved and cared for. She had seen him at the meetings, how could you not? He was strong and powerful, and really rather intimidating, yet there was something that made everyone stop and look at him. He never seemed to "let go" and drink ale with his friends, or joke about and laugh. She always thought that he was simply a cold person, who was obsessed over this revolution he was planning. Full of impossible ideals and dreams. She had, however, seen him and Gavroche a couple of times. She knew that her little brother adored the revolutionary, but from what she had observed from her usual spot at the back of the Café, Enjolras seemed to be rather fond of the boy in return. Maybe his heart wasn't non-existent like Grantaire and others joked, but just well-hidden. Guarded.

She was still hesitant to confide in him. She barely knew him. But he seemed like a fairly trustworthy person...

"Eponine? Are you coming back to Paris anytime soon?" Enjolras asked, gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, chuckling slightly.

"I'll make you a deal, Monsieur. I'll tell you all that I know of what's happened, if you tell me the secret you, Joly and Grantaire are keeping," she declared, holding out a bandaged hand for him to shake. She was somewhat proud of herself when she saw the man's smile falter and he quickly tried to cover himself, "Secret? Mademoiselle, I don't know of any secrets!"

"Oh please, don't lie, Enjolras. I know you're all hiding something! It's clear as daylight on your faces" she cried. She couldn't stand liars.

"Can it not wait till this evening when Joly returns?" Enjolras asked, the last thing he wanted was to tell her this life changing news on his own. He sighed in annoyance when the brunette simply shook her head at him. This could be the only chance Eponine gives him to know her story, and he was going to take it. Reluctantly he reached out and gently wrapped his hand around the woman's long thin fingers.

She wasn't quite expecting that. She thought, after seeing him hesitate, he would back down and leave her alone. But he shook her hand. He took the deal, and now she was going to have to tell him. She took a deep breath, and looked into Enjolras's deep eyes, "You mustn't tell another soul what I say, not anyone," she told him and when he nodded in agreement she hesitantly began:

"I took Marius to see Cosette, and I waited as the two declared their undying love for one another," she started, her tone laced with a hint of bitterness, "when I heard voices approaching. I hid in the shadows as my Father and his gang appeared. They planned to rob Cosette's house. I couldn't let let do it because, well, Marius and Cosette were there and if they were in the way then Father wouldn't hesitate to hurt them.. So, I did the only thing I could think of.." she trailed off, her voice beginning to shake as she recalled the anger on the gang's faces, when she betrayed them.

"What did you do?" Enjolras pressed.

"I screamed." her voice came out as a barely audible whisper. "I screamed and they ran away, and I knew I was in for it, then. Father warned me, he said if I screamed I would regret it, that he would make me scream. But I did it anyway! After they ran, Marius came back – he asked me to walk with him, and attend the meeting – but I knew I needed to get home and face the music, Father will only grow more angry if you make him wait... I didn't think they were going to stop..." tears were falling down her face, which was still sore and swollen from before, Enjolras would have let her stop there, feeling increasingly guilty for making her relive this horror, yet she drew a shaky breath and continued on, "I went home and they were waiting for me in the back room. They hit me and pulled my hair, and I'm used to that, but then Montparnasse got me, saying they needed something to make-up for what I had ruined. He started to... to... _touch_ me, and I lashed out. I've lashed out and ran away before but they caught me and I don't remember too much. Just, the _pain _and that _knife_. Then they left me, and I tried to run away before they decided to come back, and I don't know. My head suddenly hurt and I fell down and woke up here." the words escaped her lips like a river, gushing quickly and her face was soaked by the end of her story, her lip trembling, breaths ragged and she was rocking slightly, eyes glazed over and staring at nothing in particular.

Enjolras just stared. The man who was renowned for his brilliance with words, could think of nothing to console this poor young woman, who had been dragged to hell and back in less than twenty four hours. Once again he pulled her into him, and she crumbled. She howled into his shirt, soaking it with endless salty tears, sobbing uncontrollably. Her hands held onto him, gripping the material of his cream coloured shirt as if she couldn't bear to let him go. Enjolras was mostly silent, occasionally mumbling comforting hushes and rocking her slightly like a small child, he couldn't make out what Eponine was trying to say in-between sobs, but he managed to pick up "I thought I was going to die" and "I'm so so sorry, Monsieur."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, 'Ponine." he assured her, his own voice wavering as he tried to hold back his own tears which had been brought by hearing the young woman's heartbreaking sobs. He didn't want to keep up his side of the deal, he didn't want to have to tell her what her Father had done to her. She was suffering enough just now and detested the thought of being the one to deliver the final blow, which could ultimately destroy her.

He looked down at the mess of brown hair which was buried into his shirt, which was probably soaked. Her sobs were gradually beginning to slow, and Enjolras was grateful for this – he was educated in law and politics, not comforting a young hysterical woman. Then he realised that he was the one to pull her into him, he could get away with doing it once – but twice?

Something was odd about this and Enjolras suddenly felt rather apprehensive. It was true that he cared for the gamine, he would willingly admit that to anyone, she was the kind of person they were fighting to save. But he cared for her in a way that goes past just friendship, he discovered. He felt an anger rile through him at the thought of someone deliberately hurting her, and he enjoyed the way that the young woman fit perfectly into him, like they were moulded to be together. Plus she wasn't like other girls – the high society, upper-class girls that his family wanted him to settle down with – she was witty, sarcastic, independent and smart. She was determined and could be fierce when she needed to be. She was beautiful and brilliant, but damaged.

Eponine was his Patria in human form.

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**Yeah, I know. It kind of sucks. waaah :'( I did finish this bit at gone midnight, so yeah. My writing's not at it's highest quality, so I'm sorry about that...**

** I know that everyone is terribly OOC, but that's just how it turned out. Please feel free to review me? they really actually do help me rather a lot :) thankieeessss. **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Heeeeeey! pheeewf! that took much, much longer than anticipated! This chappie has rather a lot of dialogue in, but it's kind of a filler because I want to pass time in the story a bit and set the wheels of the main storyline into motion. Please forgive my lateness? :)**

**Anyway, I hope it's ok and not too much of a disappointment - reviews are always welcome! ;D xx**

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They stayed in each-others arms for a while longer, neither wanting to break the comfort that they had found in one another, but eventually Eponine prised herself away from him and shrunk back into the pillows of the bed.

"Oh my goodness, Monsieur. Please forgive me, I don't know what came over me," she tried to apologise, a flush creeping to her already miscoloured face out of shame and embarrassment as she stared at the state of the revolutionary's shirt which was now crumpled and wet, and to think that she was actually _sobbing_... She felt ridiculous.

She never cried in front of people. Never. She only did a few times as a young girl, and her Father saw it as a way to get more money as she looked so pitiful that less people ignored her pleas in the street. So he would start to regularly beat her until she cried, then push her out onto the cobbles on her own and force her to beg from dawn till dusk. As the years went on, however, Eponine got older, losing the young innocent look that came to all children up to the age of eight, less people took notice, probably mistaking her for some poor whore or urchin experiencing withdrawal symptoms from alcohol and such, not thinking that someone so uneducated and dirty could be capable of feeling genuine pain and heartache, so she would bring home less money than her Father expected. That's when he first started beating her out of pure hatred and anger, but the girl refused to let the man see her cry – not wanting to be used as a tool in his schemes any longer. Little did she know that he had other ways to make her participate, though... But ever since then, she would run away to somewhere private to cry. She cried rather frequently, she had to admit and mainly over Marius, and how he would never love a street rat like her. She had vowed to herself that she would never let another soul see her shed a tear, yet here she was dabbing away the salty water after crying into Enjolras's chest for goodness knows how long.

"'Ponine, I told you: you have no reason to be sorry," Enjolras affirmed, trying to hide the disappointment that he felt as she recoiled away from him. He had never felt so humbled before. It sounded stupid, but it was true. Yes, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride when numerous men, including many he did not know, cheered and applauded his speeches, but it wasn't the same as the feeling he got from Eponine. He guessed that showing emotion was rare for a woman like her, because growing up in such a harsh world would mean that you had to hide any weakness in order to survive, so in a way he felt honoured to have been trusted enough for her to let her guards down to him. Enjolras struggled to comprehend how Marius had not fallen for this woman, who quite clearly wore her heart on her sleeve for him – as that gesture alone was enough for him to warm his own heart and fill him with adoration for her.

Eponine's story was the first proper insight that Enjolras had had into her life, the pain and struggle that she had endured. It made him feel sick that while he had been growing up eating three meals a day and wandering and playing about in his parent's manor house, Eponine had been starving on the streets, locking away her emotions and growing up too fast.

Never again would she suffer. Never again would she feel lonely. No longer would she be a beggar. No longer would she be in danger from her Father and his gang – he would take her in, he would buy her a dress and teach her to read. He would turn her into a lady and help her to escape poverty, not just because it meant that he would have her company a lot more and not just because it was the right thing to do. Eponine deserved it. She deserved to know that there is hope in the world.

He noticed that she was frowning again, and her eyes were swimming with what looked like pain, and Enjolras assumed that it was time for her to apply the ointment that Joly had left them – which was meant to help numb the stinging sensation and heal the wounds a bit faster.

Eponine watched the man get up and stride across the room, snatch up a small jar and return to the bed, handing the container out to her, "It's a type of cream that Joly left and told me to give to you. Don't ask me how, but it's meant to help the pain."

"How did you - "

"I could see it in your eye's, Mademoiselle. Don't be sacred to tell me if you're in any pain at all. I don't bite!" He added playfully, trying to entice a smile onto her forlorn features.

It worked, and a small smile played at the corners of her mouth, and she let out a soft giggle of appreciation at his attempted joke as her fingers wrapped around the jar. She let out a low hiss as she applied the mixture to her face, dabbing it around her eye area and her nose. It stung – like salt in a cut – but after a few moments, it died down to a dull tingle, and her skin was left feeling cool rather than hot and painful.

"You still need to keep up your side of the deal, Monsieur" Eponine stated, truthfully. She was a Thenardier, and one thing which was drilled into her was a child was: Never forget what you're owed, and who owes it to you. Her parents had been referring to materialistic things such as money, but in this case Eponine felt that she was owed the truth.

Enjolras sighed heavily, and tried his best to look her in the eye but all he could see was the inevitable pain which would probably overwhelm her, plus her stare was so intense it made him feel even more uncomfortable, so he decided that it would be easier to move his gaze to his overfilled bookshelf which was beside her. He was currently hating himself for agreeing with Eponine's deal, why did he have to be so impatient? Why couldn't he just wait till Joly got back? He was better at comforting, and he would probably be able to answer any questions the inquisitive young woman could possibly ask.

With a deep breath, he told her all that he knew. He saw her eyes glaze over and stare into nothingness, and he saw her physically droop before a tear trickled down her cheek.

The words that Enjolras carefully spoke hit her heart like lead, weighing it down and dragging it deep into the dark, and at the same time it felt as though it was being torn to shreds by rabid animals. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to pull herself back from this one.

Eponine had never set herself high hopes for the future, but like every girl she dreamed of the life she wanted: the caring, loving husband. The warm, comfortable house with cupboards that were never bare. And a family. She had wished for three children from a young age, she longed to carry a child inside her and then hold the tiny life in her arms, caring and nourishing it – helping it to grow into a healthy and happy individual. She had vowed to teach them manners, so they would grow to be respectable members of the community, and they would have the privilege of learning to read and write. People would see her with her family and they would envy her. They would envy the happiness that glittered in their eyes and the love that illuminated their features. But none of that would ever happen now. She didn't ever expect it to, anyway, but there was always hope – always the slim chance that the Lord would hear her prayers, and grant her her dream, he would give her a kind, loving soul who didn't care of her background and love her for who she was, regardless of class and creed. But that would never happen now. Men wanted children to carry on the family name, no man would ever want a woman who could not do the one thing that all women were made for. She was broken. She was bound to walk alone forever, until her sorry heart stopped beating.

She wondered if God was laughing at her, if he was almost done with his vicious jokes and his games. She doubted it. He seemed to enjoy making her suffer.

More tears threatened to fall from Eponine's dark brown eyes, but she refused. She had already cried once in front of the leader of the Les Amis, and she wasn't going to do it again. She was an expert at masking her emotions and holding back tears.

"Eponine?" Enjolras asked gently.

She didn't respond.

"'Ponine, I am so sorry this has happened to you. You don't have to ever face them again, I promise you," he blurted out, desperate to remove the look of defeat and deflation from her features.

The brunette's dark eyes shot up to meet Enjolras's own deep brown orbs, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Monsieur" she told him, bluntly. "I have no choice but to return to them, I have no where else to go, and if I don't go back, they'll hunt me down."

The way she spoke with such a resigned tone broke Enjolras's heart. He hadn't realised just how trapped she was by her own Father. He would keep her safe, she could live here with him – he had a spare room, which was currently his study but it could easily be transformed into another bedroom, and money wasn't an issue for him, coming from a rich family, so buying extra food and such wouldn't be a problem. He would buy her some new dresses as her own rags weren't much use anymore (Joly had cut the shirt and her trousers were so tattered and stained that they might as well be thrown away) and help her to live a life with respect from those around her, have some luxuries. And maybe, it would help her to see that there were other men besides Marius who could care for her...

Eponine sighed, and looked into the young man's eyes, "I'm sorry, Monsieur I didn't mean to be so rude. Thank you for your kindness, and your honesty but there is nothing more you can do for me. I best be off soon, before they come looking for me..." Her voice shook slightly, giving away a trace if the sadness and fear she was currently forcing out of view. Tears began to prick her eyes and Eponine bit down on her bottom lip hard, and looked down at her hands which she was now wringing in her lap.

"No, Eponine. You're to stay here." Enjolras decided that it would be easier to inform her of his decision to let her live with him, rather than ask her if she wanted to because then she couldn't refuse.

"Enjolras, I have no other option! If I don't go to them willingly, they will take me by force!"

"They will do no such thing, because you will be safe living under this roof."

Eponine's eyes widened to an almost comical size, "E-Excuse me?"

"I want you to live here with me, Eponine," Enjolras told her, honestly. "I have a room which I can easily turn into a bedroom for you and there's food, water and most importantly you will be away from the streets and the scum that harmed you."

Eponine didn't know what to say. Why was this kind revolutionary insisting that she live with him? She was a filthy street urchin! "I am no charity case, Monsieur" she told him, coldly, "I don't wish for this arrangement to be based off pity."

The young man stared at the woman in wonder. Any other beggar would not hesitate in taking him up on his offer, all desperate for a better life – but that did not apply to Eponine. She was proud, strong-willed and independent. She hated the thought of having to rely on another person, or having them pity her just because of what she had endured... He liked that, in her.

He shook his head and shrugged, "I'd like the company – it would be helpful to have someone to practice my speeches to and get opinions from." he locked eyes with the stubborn young woman, silently daring her argue.

She relented, her brow furrowing in confusion, "Why on Earth would you want the company of an uneducated street rat, like me?"

The young man hated the low opinion Eponine held of herself. He was going to change that, once he convinced her to live in his flat with him, "Society and Class do not define a person, 'Ponine. You may not have been educated in a school, as such, but I believe you are exceedingly intelligent nevertheless and if education is what you want, then I will be happy to teach you what I can."

An incredulous laugh escaped Eponine's lips. She couldn't quite believe what was happening. Like her younger brother, she was very good at reading people. She searched his face for any hint of cruelty or malice but found none. He was watching her expectantly, waiting for her response. Somehow she doubted he would take "no" for an answer.

She was conflicted. Her head was screaming at her, telling her to go back to her Father before something unthinkable happened, but her heart was begging her to accept the revolutionary's offer, pressing the fact that no one else would ever do this for her, she doubted that even Marius could be so thoughtful as to offer her a true _home_.

_Father will kill you._ Her head warned.

_You wanted a better life, didn't you? It's practically on a silver platter for you, now – take it! _Her heart pleaded.

_Montparnasse won't be happy, you know what his temper is like._ Her ribs and wrists suddenly twinged, a reminder from her head of what the thug was capable of when you crossed him.

The internal debate continued for some time, the pro's and con's for each decision piling onto an invisible scale, weighing it all out.

But Eponine was a girl who blindly followed her heart, and after checking that he was serious, all rational thoughts and warnings were pushed from her mind as she flung herself at the man and hugged him, ignoring the searing pain that flooded through her body, "Thank you, Monsieur! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She gushed, burying her face into his warm, porcelain neck – breathing in the scent that she had grown to love over the short space of time.

There was a spark as she touched him. A jolt of some kind that made her nerves tingle, and her heart flutter, making blood pump to her face – turning her a subtle shade of pink. She felt giddy and elated before she realised.

These were the feelings she felt when Marius patted her shoulder or hugged her loosely when she offered to run his errands for him.

But this wasn't Marius whom she was touching. It was Enjolras.

* * *

**So yeah, the main story begins from about NOW. *cheers and woops* **

**I kind of wanted to show a softer side to Eponine, because I'm sure she's actually very vulnerable and insecure underneath the hard exterior she has to have because living on the streets is a "dog eat dog" world. If that makes sense? **

**Anyway, yeah. Thank you xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Ok, I'm saying a MAHOOSIVE sorry for this really late update! I went through weeks, I mean WEEKS of not knowing what to write - it all sounded terrible! and then, I started back at school and I'm so busy I have had to write bits late at night before I go to sleep, so I'm sorry if it's not very good! This chapter has a new character in, and I think most of you will be able to guess who it's based on! :') **

**Sorry for the lateness, I hope this is ok!? :S**

* * *

A few weeks passed since Eponine had agreed to Enjolras's living arrangement, and the young woman was making a speedy recovery. Joly visited daily to check her injuries, and was pleased that her bruises were mostly faded and the bones in her ribs and fingers were healing nicely. Eponine was relieved when Joly finally agreed to removing the bandages. The wound on her abdomen was also healing well, and the stitches had been removed a couple of days previously.

Eponine now lay in the bath, rinsing the soap from her hair, and sighing contentedly as the warm water soaked her body, relaxing the muscles which were slowly loosening up due to the calm atmosphere of the flat she was now living in. She sighed blissfully as she inhaled the sweet flowery smell of the soaps and oils which Enjolras had kindly purchased for her. He was such a thoughtful, caring gentleman Eponine mused to herself with a small smile. He denied that his actions weren't out of pity, but why else would a busy university student bother with a useless gamine like herself? It simply didn't make sense to her.

She leaned back her head, closed her eyes and allowed herself to be transported to the world inside her head. She liked it there.

Her imaginary world was much like Paris, only cleaner and everything was much calmer and softer. The river which she dreamed up was much like the Seine, only the water was blue and clear rather than brown and murky. It was warm as opposed to the biting cold temperature which it was in reality. It was often night time in Eponine's mind, but even that was friendlier in her imagination: the sky was a deep navy colour not the cold, threatening black, and not a single cloud of smog obstructed her view of the stars which glittered like diamonds, and stretched over the skies as far as her eyes could see. They formed pretty constellations, and their reflections sparkled in the river water, and their light shone through the leaves of the trees in an almost ethereal way.

In her mind, Eponine liked to stroll along the river – her feet silently treading over the soft green grass – along with a companion. This was usually Marius, who would drape his arm around her waist and whisper loving things in her ear. He would slowly bring her to a stop, and hold both of her hands, so she was staring into his beautiful hazel eyes, then he would plant a sweet, gentle kiss onto her lips before grinning cheekily and running off into the trees. Eponine would try to follow, but end up desperately lost and grow scared, until she felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind and he would chuckle as he rested his chin on her head of mahogany hair.

But recently, her illusions had altered slightly. Marius had only visited her a couple of times since the accident, and even then he would babble on relentlessly about his _darling_ Cosette. He was blind to the hurt which jabbed at her repeatedly, whenever he looked past her like she was nothing but a ghost, or talked down to her like she was just his pet. A common animal. Eponine was growing up, leaving her childish fantasies. She realised that she claimed to "Love" Marius simply because he was the first person who showed her kindness, but now she knew Enjolras who had welcomed her into his home, and Grantaire and Joly who had visited her daily, and treated her with just as much friendliness and respect as Marius, if not more – and they didn't make her feel as though she had to earn their attention, they made her feel equal. Grantaire was much like an older brother, who she could laugh and joke with and he teased her endlessly, but all in jest, and Joly was kind and caring – always concerned for her health and well-being, almost a fatherly figure even though he couldn't be more than twenty-three.

Now she imagined walking down the river, but with Enjolras, Joly and Grantaire. They would lead her to a spot by the water, where they had laid out a picnic – a grand feast of sandwiches, pastries, fruits and other delights laid out on a soft woollen blanket – and they would sit and talk for hours. Grantaire would slurp at his absinthe and drunkenly slur out many of his joyous pub songs and rhymes, pulling Eponine up and twirling her round, making her skirt billow out and her hat fall off so her dark hair would fly all over the place. Joly and Enjolras would chuckle at the scene and Joly would clap along to the beat of the song, joining in when he knew the lyrics whereas Enjolras would smile up at them a while, before getting to his feet and smoothly replacing Grantaire as her dance partner. He would attempt to waltz with her a bit, before realising Eponine did not know how, then he would simply sway around with her, supporting her waist and small of her back with his warm and strong yet tender hands. He would gaze into her eyes before catching her lips in a kiss. It would be slow and gentle at first, making sure that she was entirely comfortable, then it would deepen, and grow in passion and love. The two would only break when they required oxygen, and then they would say their goodbye's to their friends before wandering off into the woods, arms lovingly wrapped around each-other...

She didn't know how long she was daydreaming, but she was jolted from her thoughts when there was a brisk knock at the door, "'Ponine, are you nearly ready in there? We need to go soon," Enjolras's deep tenor called through the bathroom door.

Enjolras pressed his ear to the oak door, waiting to hear a response. He fought back a laugh when he heard her squeak in surprise, the sound of water sloshing and her little feet pattering along the floor tiles. He stepped back when her footsteps came closer to him, and she flung the door open, beaming at him with a toothy grin and wild coffee coloured eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with a deep pink from the heat of the water of her bath and from dashing about getting dressed – it was a nice change from the assortment of colours her face had been up to a couple of days ago due to bruises and swelling. Her face was now back to normal, and despite her being far too skinny, she was looking healthier than ever.

Eponine was wearing a pair of Enjolras's trousers (which had been rolled up at the ends to stop them dragging on the floor and tripping her over) and a shirt, along with one of his leather belts which he had had to pierce a new hole into to ensure the trousers stayed up around the girls non-existent waist. Both were far too big, and swamped the woman who was very clearly still underweight despite the numerous pastries and pies the student kept pushing her way and Enjolras couldn't help but _like_ seeing his new friend in his shirt, he didn't know why as such, but it made his heart race and his stomach seemed to flutter. If he was honest, the feeling made him feel embarrassed – like he was a young man all over again. Her hair was still wet from her wash, and the long dark tresses cascaded in soggy waves past her shoulders, soaking the white cotton shirt which hung down to her knees, making the fabric cling to her skin. _She is truly beautiful_, Enjolras thought to himself, with a wry smile.

Eponine was more than grateful for the clothes she was given, and her face had positively glowed when Enjolras passed them to her the day that she opened up to him. She had gingerly stroked the cotton shirt in awe and Enjolras doubted that she had worn anything relatively new, or even clean, for a very long time. She looked a lot better in clean, crisp clothes and even better once she had a bath, removing the dirt and grime from her skin – revealing a smooth, tanned complexion – and washing away the grease and brushing away the tangles from her dark brown hair, but she was a young woman, and wearing ill-fitting men's clothes weren't flattering or lady-like in the slightest. So he decided he would take her to see an old friend of his, Glenda, who owned a dress shop and would be more than thrilled to make Eponine a couple of outfits.

* * *

"Where are we going, Monsieur?" The young woman inquired as they strolled down the street.

Enjolras looked down at her, she was grinning excitedly up at him, her eyes shining with curiosity that reminded him of how a child would look at Christmas – it was almost endearing.

"You'll see, Miss Eponine – we're nearly there." he impulsively took her hand, blind to the blush which soon lit up her cheeks, and led her down a couple of cobbled streets, off the main road.

Eponine's smile faded away as she stared at the building before her. This shop was nicely painted on the outside, with a varnished oak wooden door and the window display showed off many lovely dresses made of fine fabrics of many colours with countless different designs through the spotless glass. Red and pink roses lined the outside walls, and a plant with pretty pink flowers grew up the brick wall by the entrance and hung gracefully over the door. It was truly a quaint little shop, far too posh and pretty for the likes of a Gamine such as Eponine. She may be clean and washed, but she was still the uneducated street rat that she was a few weeks ago.

"Monsieur Enjolras, I can't go in there!" she cried out in a flustered panic. She had developed a kind of fear of upmarket shops. She had a bad experience with one once, and she never felt comfortable about them again. She had once tried to seek warmth in a dress shop one winter-time and the old hag which owned it shrieked at her and chased her down the street with a broom. She saw the disgusted looks on the faces of the people in the shop and those she passed. She had never felt quite so humiliated, and humiliation was a common feeling to take residence in Eponine's heart. It would be terribly embarrassing when she stepped through the door and the owner shouted at her to leave, with him there. She didn't think she could take much more of his kind-hearted pity.

Enjolras looked confused, his eyebrows knitting together, "Why ever not? And didn't I say that you can drop the formalities now, Eponine? We've been in each-other's company for a while now," he chuckled slightly, before realising that his attempt at lightening the situation didn't work, and his friend was looking at him with wide apprehensive eyes.

Eponine sighed, and blurted out her worries in such a hurried rush that the revolutionary had to really concentrate in order to work out what she was saying.

It broke his heart to know just how much struggle and cruelty the likes of Eponine had to endure on a daily basis – he couldn't understand how people could be so harsh as to deny a young woman some warmth during the harsh winter months – his revolution will make sure that this kind of injustice is eradicated. For good.

She took some persuading, but eventually Enjolras convinced Eponine that it was a good friend of his who owned the establishment, and that she would be perfectly fine with her, and after offering his arm, like the gentleman he was, the two entered the shop. Enjolras couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of affection towards his companion when her grip involuntarily tightened on his arm as they walked in, and a bell which dangled above the door rang out – alerting the owner of their presence.

A high pitched voice rang out as a series of bangs and clatters sounded in a back room behind the counter, "I'm coming! Hold on!" it shouted.

A small woman, with beautifully clear porcelain skin, large, dazzling azure eyes and golden hair which fell in perfect ringlets to her shoulders bobbed into view. Her eyes lit up, and she broke into an excited grin when she saw who was standing somewhat awkwardly amongst the many dresses, _"ENJIE!" _She cried, jumping and giggling with more enthusiasm than Eponine had ever witnessed, she sharply looked away from Enjolras, stifling a laugh as she saw his face flush an unnatural shade of beetroot.

Enjolras cleared his throat awkwardly – he had forgotten just how... _Excitable_, his old school friend could be. Just like he had forgotten her little nickname for him...

"Good Morning, Mademoiselle Glenda," he greeted her, shooting a quick glare at Eponine who had accidentally allowed a small splutter of laughter escape her lips.

Glenda flapped a small, slender hand at her old school friend, making a non-committal noise as she sighed, "None of that formal nonsense, Enjie! We've been friends far too long, for that... Now who is this?" the woman locked her bright blue eyes onto the gamine, who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze – but tried to look back at the woman, confidently, nonetheless with her own chocolate brown orbs.

Enjolras opened his mouth to answer, but Eponine was fully capable of talking for herself, "My name is Eponine, Mademoiselle." and suddenly, fearing she had spoken out of turn, she offered a small smile, not opening her mouth. She had felt rather proud of the state of her teeth, considering she had no resources or means of keeping them clean, but she felt inadequate and dirty after having caught a glimpse of Glenda's perfectly straight, pearly teeth.

Glenda smiled warmly and assured her that simply calling her Glenda was fine, and then turned her attentions back to Enjolras who explained, "My friend needs a few dresses, Glenda. I thought you would be the best person to come to – being such a talented seamstress." In truth, Enjolras knew of many dressmakers though the city, but felt that Glenda would be the most welcoming to the likes of someone such as Eponine. She may be rich and upper-class, but Glenda Uptoness wasn't a snob, dictated by society and reputations. She was friendly and kind-hearted to everyone – and this was why he had befriended her all those years ago.

The blonde grinned, her rosy cheeks growing red at her friends compliment, and she nodded before taking in the brunettes appearance, more carefully. She gently plucked at the baggy material of Eponine's hand-me-down shirt, and smiled fondly, and excited gleam in her eyes "Oh yes, yes. You shouldn't be too hard to sort out, poppet – you're a bit smaller than those I normally sew for, but nevermind! Enjie, you can go for a couple of hours – Miss Eppie here is my new project, and I need time to make her look _perfect_."

Enjolras attempted to hide his laughter at Eponine's new name by disguising it as a coughing fit, and Eponine simply stared at him, pointedly. She didn't want him to leave her alone, but she had a feeling that this Glenda was nice enough, and she doubted that Enjolras would leave her with anyone horrible. She could always fight her way out if she needed...

"Are you ok with this?" Enjolras asked her, quietly – searching her face for any signs of worry or fear. He knew Glenda would be perfectly kind, but could understand if Eponine would feel more comfortable if she had a familiar face with her. A part of him also _wanted_ to stay. He wanted to watch his blonde friend transform Eponine from a poor street urchin, to a respectable looking young lady, but the brunette nodded her head, her chestnut tresses bobbing slightly at the movement, now they were no longer weighed down with grease and grime.

"I'll be fine, Mons- Enjolras" she corrected herself, smiling up at him with as much confidence as she could muster , and Glenda then stepped in and began shooing the revolutionary to the door assuring him that his friend will be well looked after in his absence, and to return in a couple of hours.

Once the door had shut and Enjolras had reluctantly walked back down the cobbled streets onto the high street, the bubbly blonde pulled Eponine into a room behind the counter, where fabrics of all colours and textures littered the floor in scraps and draped over chairs and desks in large sheets.

Glenda began gathering snippets of material and held them at an arms length, squinting with one eye closed as she tried to make out which colours would suit the girl who stood before her, shifting about from foot to foot as if fighting the urge to run for the nearest exit.

"Hm... I think a nice simple day dress of this Olive silk with a modest lace design would look lovely, and a prettier one in this dark purple, here – oh yes, it matches your skin tone, _perfectly_! - and ooooooh! We have to make you a dress in this light blue – it would bring out those lovely dark eyes of yours!" she babbled away, mostly to herself. She placed the samples on another desk in the corner, this one was clearer, and only homed a stack of papers, some pencils, quills and taylor's chalk, "They'll take me a little while to make – much longer than a couple of hours, mon dieu! - we'll have to fit you with something else for the mean time, won't we, Eppie?" She began to make her way to a rail of clothing, before she spun round, her pink silk dress rustling at the abrupt motion, "It _is_ alright to call you Eppie, isn't it?" she asked, and continued her search with a gleeful grin when the brunette simply nodded dumbly, taken aback by the sheer energy which radiated off this woman like heat from a fire.

When she returned, her arms were laden with many dresses of many different colours, "I'm going to make you so beautiful that Enjie won't have a clue what hit him!" she addressed Eponine as she placed the outfits onto a chair.

Eponine's eyebrows shot up into her hairline, "W-What do you mean, Mademoiselle?" panic slowly began to bubble inside her – had her feelings for Enjolras been that obvious that a woman she's known less than a hour could spot it?

Glenda froze where she stood, perplexed, "You mean, you're not a -" she didn't bother to finish her question – Eponine's wide eyes and flushed cheeks were answer enough. She felt oddly disappointed, she was usually renowned for her talent of understanding people and their behaviour – years of attending social events and such had made sure of this – and she didn't even think that Enjolras and this clean looking gamine were anything less than a couple. The looks in each one's eyes was almost too obvious... unless, neither knew of the other's affections? "Oh... Do forgive me! I really should stop assuming things!" she trilled with a soft giggle, but there was a scheming glimmer to her sapphire eyes.

"Ok, Eppie, I want out out of those ghastly men's clothes! I'm going to turn you into a _Lady_, and that means no more shirts and trousers, alright?"

"You really don't have to do this, Mademoiselle Glenda... In fact, I'm perfectly happy as I am, merci!"

After shaking her head, firmly and insisting that formalities were dropped, Glenda helped to lace a reluctant Eponine into a corset. She didn't think it was pleasant at all. It restricted her movement and breathing and she felt almost trapped, she needed to be able to know that, if she needed to, she could easily make a speedy get away and she doubted she would be capable of getting particularly far in this strange contraption that women of class deemed an item of clothing. But she did relish the feeling of the silk of her dress beneath her long, slender fingers, and the way it billowed around her ankles when she moved.

It was a relatively simple dress, it was a deep red colour which could be classed as a purple, depending on who was looking at it and in what light, and there was an elegant floral design embroidered onto the bodice in a golden coloured thread. The dress hugged her thin figure, which was now accentuated by the corset underneath, and then, at the waist the material flowed out into a long skirt which Glenda altered to make shorter slightly, much to her dismay, after the street girl stressed that she didn't want something so beautiful to drag on the floor where it will get torn and dirtied. Glenda apologised that it wasn't anything fancy, and the dresses she would make once she had gone would be much better and more personal – but to Eponine, this was the nicest garment she had ever seen, let alone worn!

Glenda babbled away about all of the dukes she had become acquainted with at the many parties she attended, and which ones she was going to marry, and what she would name their children as she combed out Eponine's hair, and styled it with pins and ribbon.

"Oh, keep still and stop fussing!" she muttered in a light tone as Eponine groaned and flinched as Glenda stuck another hairpin into her scalp, or tugged a little too hard when combing out a particularly stubborn tangle.

"Sorry," Eponine said, "It's just, no-one's ever really done my hair before..." She cringed as soon as she realised that the words had passed her lips, she sounded so _pathetic_! She inwardly kicked herself. She didn't want or need Glenda's sympathy. "Not that I was never offered, I just never really saw the need, is all," she lied.

The blonde saw through the lies, immediately. If her hesitation and wavering voice weren't a give away, then the way she looked down and clasped and un-clasped her hands was. Deciding not to comment, she changed the subject, "So, Eppie – just how did you Enjie meet?"

Eponine had thought this question would be asked at some point, being a Thenardier had taught her to think ahead and be prepared, "I work at the Café where he comes to study, and we spoke on one occasion. Then, before I knew it we were talking more and more!" she lied smoothly. She was quite a convincing actress when she knew what she was doing.

Glenda seemed satisfied, and let out a soft "aww!" and she gazed into nothingness as she tried to picture the romantic moments between her oldest friend and her newest. She was quite a romantic, and thought that Eponine and Enjolras were a dream couple in the making – she would see to it that it happened, it was just too perfect to let slide. She was brought back into the real world by Eponine's slightly husky voice.

"How did you meet Monsieur Enjolras?"

"We grew up in the same village, and we came to Paris around the same time – he helped me to fund this place!" she chuckled, fondly at the memories of her childhood.

"He's so kind and considerate..." Eponine mumbled quietly in a seemingly distant voice. Glenda knew the tone well as she was guilty of using it quite a lot, it was the tone of a voice of a person who is daydreaming.

With a knowing smirk to herself, Glenda placed the last pin into Eponine's hair and announced she was done and was to start with make-up.

Eponine protested, but the way her eye's shone contradicted her words. Glenda was silent, and poked her pink tongue out slightly as she applied paint to her lips, powder to her face, blush to her lips and shadow to her eyes. With a flourish she brandished a mirror from the desk behind her and positioned it so Eponine could take in her new look.

She audibly gasped. Her hair was intricately twisted and pinned back into an elegant bun, which had a ribbon the same shade of red as her dress tied round it in a neat bow, a few lose tresses falling from the front and framing her face which was now powdered. There was a subtle pink blush to her cheeks, making her look healthy and youthful, the faint red paint which had been applied to her lips made them look full and nicely shaped and Glenda had brushed a grey coloured power onto her eyelids, which made her brown eyes seem larger and darker. For the first time, Eponine felt like a lady. She felt pretty.

"Oh, Glenda – thank you so much!" she gushed, a grin creeping onto her face, turning into a beam which could challenge the bubbly blonde's. "How can I ever pay you, though? I have no money!"

Glenda shook her head, golden ringlets swishing around her shoulders like wheat in the breeze, "You don't have to pay me! I had good fun, Eppie! But you can do me a favour?"

"Anything," Eponine promised, immediately, eye's serious yet curious.

"Follow your heart. You might just be surprised."

"I don't think I understand, Glenda..."

"I think you do. Follow your heart – I have a good feeling about it – trust me!" she insisted with a knowing smirk.

Eponine was about to protest again, when the door bell sounded out and a familiar voice called out from the main room.

"Hello?" Enjolras called.

Glenda consciously waited for Eponine to walk out to meet him first, wanting to catch his initial reaction. She had seen the way Eponine's eyes had lit up and a small smile twitched her lips when they heard his deep tenor, and now she was certain that the brunette harboured feelings for him.

She wasn't disappointed.

Enjolras thought his heart had stopped when he saw Eponine. He thought she was beautiful before, in his baggy trousers and oversized shirt but now he saw her in the dress... She was stunning. Red, or was it purple? Was definitely her colour, the dress looked like it had been designed especially for her, even though he knew it wasn't as it was too well made to have been created in the space of two hours. His breaths came in short gasps and he felt himself grow hot as he realised he was probably staring and his mouth was open in a lop-sided grin.

Eponine was smiling shyly under his gaze, and it was almost too irresistible for the revolutionary – it was the most endearing thing, to watch her nibble her lip self-consciously and look down with those large dark orbs.

That was when he realised.

He was definitely, without a doubt, in love with Eponine Thenardier.

He didn't regret it in the slightest.

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**AN: what did you think of Glenda? I think she's going to make a regular appearance, maybe! haha :') this was a bit meeeerrrhhhh but I was a bit stuck! Next chapter could possibly see the return of an old face... yeah, I'm not saying who exactly, but someone is coming baaaaack! :O**

**please review? OwO - yeah, my attempt at puppy dog eyes. haha... umm... **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Heyy! sorry if this is late? I don't know, time escapes me nowadays! haha... it's 10 minutes past midnight here, and yeah. I suppose my "I'M NEVER GOING TO WRITE LATE AT NIGHT AGAIN!" thingy failed... :S I hope this turned out alright? I hope you don't mind what I did to Montparnasse, I'm a bit nervous about it! haha **

**I'm actually fairly surprised that people read my ramblings, haha!**

**Please review me and tell me what you think? :D xxx**

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Montparnasse was furious. He hadn't felt anger like this for a while, and anger was an emotion which dominated the man.

Eponine was his property. _His_. She belonged to _him_. No-one else. _She was his_. And yet, she was missing. She wasn't at his service and it enraged him. Had he not made it perfectly clear to her what he was capable of doing? Had he not _shown_ her that she was to obey him?

He did. He knew he did. But why wasn't she here?

Montparnasse had returned to the room where they had punished Eponine a few hours after it had happened, expecting to find her broken, bruised, alone and hurting. He expected to make her beg for help, beg for his forgiveness – but the room was empty. The only sign that she had ever been there was the wet stain of blood on the floorboards. He was furious. He needed to hear her voice, weak with pain and sorrow. He needed to know that he was powerful, and that he was stronger than her. He _needed_ it. The mere thought of it sent a sick thrill through his body, and the sane part of his brain was repulsed. He loved Eponine. More than he thought he ever would. But that made him weak, it made him vulnerable. That was her fault – so he made sure to punish her for it. He liked the knowledge that he was able to strike fear into her very core, that he was able to make her physically shake and cry with pure terror.

But now she was gone. And he felt powerless.

He had tried to regain his sense of dominance by scaring a variety of prostitutes. But they were all far to used to the forceful touch, and failed to flinch and whimper like Eponine did. They had grown accustomed to the hurtful words and threats he threw at them, and barely battered an eye-lid, whereas Eponine would try to fight back with insults of her own – and he enjoyed her fire – but he could see the hurt behind her eyes, see her cheeks grow red with humiliation and he saw her lip quiver as she fought the urge to cry.

None could make him feel as strong as the young Thenardier woman did.

He ran a hand through his greasy black curls as he stalked silently through the back alleys of the city. He had traced all the areas he thought Eponine could be, demanded every person he passed if they knew of her whereabouts. Nothing. It was driving him insane, he couldn't think straight.

Master Thenardier was also growing impatient of his daughter's unexplained absence. He was not only confused of how she got away – he had left her in a state that he assumed would mean she would be unable to leave, meaning he could return and drag her home when he felt that she had learnt her lesson – he needed her for many of his schemes, and without her it meant he was wasting time having to formulate new ones when he could be out getting rich. He thought she was an insolent child at the best of times, and he worked hard to crush the spirit she had – to stop her from working against him – she had far too much of a conscience, always hesitant to take part in his operations. He had to get her back.

"'Parnasse!" he hollered at the lanky man who was now agitatedly pacing their base, his hands shaking as they raked through his hair, shoulders twitching dementedly and his face was contorted into one which made him resemble a madman.

"What?!" the man snapped, sharply, breaking from his pacing cycle and striding over to Thenardier. He was a lot taller, and purposely towered over him – hoping to see his boss cower slightly, and give him a short burst of relief and sense of power and control, but again, it wasn't the same. The middle-aged man barely moved back an inch, he simply returned his cold stare.

"I want ya ter find 'Ponine. I can't keep making new plans, and as much as it pains me to say it – we need 'er." the man grumbled, pulling a face as if saying he needed his daughter back left a bad taste in his mouth.

Montparnasse nodded, and said no more as he left the building.

"Be sure ter check those posh parts, eh? She 'as that friend, don't she? Whatsisname? … Martius? Sommet like that!" Thenardier shouted at his retreating back.

Montparnasse kicked a wall as soon as he turned the corner – how had he forgotten about that baron who Eponine had gone all dewy-eyed over? He was a thief in his eyes. He had stolen what wasn't his – even though it was obvious that Marius didn't harbour any feelings towards Eponine, Montparnasse hated him, and resolved that if he had got hold of _his_ 'Ponine, he would be living on borrowed time.

He was racing through the alley's, blinded by rage as his tattered boots pounded against the cobbles when he suddenly stopped and swung his fist round, smacking the brick wall adjacent. He let out a grunt of frustration – Eponine was going to pay for this. Just like that bastard thief Marius was going to pay for stealing her from him.

The man was insane, no doubt about it. The obsession he held for Eponine and power was nothing short of unhealthy, and it drove him forward in his blind search of Paris. He could think of nothing else for hours until he heard a familiar voice.

He ran towards it, he would know that soft almost husky voice, anywhere! When he saw the source of the voice, he was stunned.

There was a beautiful woman, with fancy hair and fine clothes walking along the street, hanging onto the arm of a tall, strong looking man with dark hair and eyes. They were smiling at each other and laughing about something.

The woman looked just like Eponine. She sounded like her too. No amount of make-up or finery could mask her distinguishable voice and large dark eyes. But it couldn't be her, could it? Montparnasse wondered if this was another one of his mind's cruel tricks – he was often tortured by delusions and visions which were never there - but it was far to vivid to be anything less than real. But how could this be his Eponine?

It took all of his willpower not to sprint over to the pair and see if what he was watching was real, and if so, snatch back what was rightfully his. Oh, how his mind screamed at him to charge in. Instead, he chose to prowl after them – stalking them like a cat, loitering in the shadows – and he would wait until they were away from the hustle and bustle of the busy streets before making his move. He knew that a policeman would not hesitate to arrest him – his face was well known amongst the force, and he was highly sought after because of the numerous crimes he had taken part in for Thenardier's gang. He had to be careful.

The more he followed, the more and more certain he became of the fact that the beautiful woman - with clean hair which seemed to shine like silk in the sun, and a face and figure that would make angels themselves turn green with envy – was his Eponine.

He wondered if this man who Eponine seemed to adore, was rich. It must have been him who brought her the new attire, and he looked rather formal himself – no doubt one of those bloody university students, no doubt, Montparnasse thought to himself with a bitter sneer. He eyed Enjolras with a look of distaste. Why would he bother with a worthless whore like Eponine Thenardier? Surely he knew of her – being the daughter of the infamous criminal that was Master Thenardier had made her name just as well-known – he must know that she is uneducated, penniless and _his_. The thought of someone else laying hands on his property made his skin crawl.

He was going to pay for taking her away from him.

She was going to pay for leaving him.

They were now strolling into the park, which was thankfully very quiet and Montparnasse could hear the pairs conversation as he stalked them from behind bushes and tree's.

"Y-you will?" Eponine seemed to squeak, looking up and beaming at the man's face – a notion that was very different to the young woman he knew, Montparnasse noted sourly.

"Of course! Everyone should have the ability to read and write fluently, should they not?" The man grinned, without the slightest hesitation or falter. Montparnasse was disgruntled by the fact that this man was rather handsome, and the way he was looking at Eponine with those soft brown eyes and warm, gentle smile made his stomach twist and lurch with hate. Who did he think he was?

"Oh, Monsieur Enjolras! Merci! Merci! Oh, thank you!" Eponine cried, before throwing herself at her companion, enveloping him into a tight hug. Montparnasse swore he saw tears swimming in her eyes as he watched her sigh in contentment.

Eponine was thrilled. This man who stood before her was surely an angel sent from heaven to deliver her a shred of joy!

He had welcomed her into his home, fed her food from his cupboards, brought her a few dresses (which she was they sure would be beautiful) and now he had offered her lessons to improve her literacy skills. She was elated.

How could she have ever believed that she loved Marius, when Enjolras was there the whole time? Marius, she now realised, was selfish and blind, driving solely on his love for the blonde woman from Rue Plummet. Enjolras was different. He always seemed to put her first, even giving up his bed for her while she recovered from the worst of her injuries – Eponine had been against the arrangement, insisting that she would be fine on his sofa, but he wouldn't hear of it! But even he was no match for Eponine's stubbornness after she was well enough to walk again, and he very reluctantly swapped beds with her - he was kind and loving, and Eponine was afraid. She knew the feelings which bubbled inside her once again, overpowering and strong like lava. She knew the feelings well. She could not bear to let herself love Enjolras when he would never love her back – the pain was excruciating the first time round, and she doubted that her scarred heart would be able to take a second blow – and yet she was slowly succumbing to the blissfulness of love and the rose tinted view it gave her of the world, much more beautiful than the harsh sharp colours of reality. _Why must you always yearn for the impossible, Eponine?!_ She scolded herself, firmly. She tried desperately to fight her heart with her mind, her brain screaming: _He could never love you, 'Ponine! You may be in pretty dresses, but you're still a worthless urchin! Stop this childish foolishness before you get hurt... again! _But she could feel herself slipping as she breathed in Enjolras's familiar scent. No, she could not help herself.

Her heart sighed in content and relief.

Her mind huffed in frustration and agitation.

Eponine had fallen in love with the leader of the Rebellion.

Enjolras relished the feel of Eponine pressed against his chest as she hugged him tightly, as if trying to press the gratitude and elation from her heart into his own. She was small enough for him to easily rest his chin on the top of her chocolate coloured locks, if he dipped his head a few inches, and he couldn't help but pick up on how perfectly they fit together – it was like they were two pieces of a jigsaw, no two pieces would fit so comfortably as these two – and he could only hope that he could win her heart.

He knew his friends would laugh and scoff at him accepting the concept of loving anyone besides his Patria, but right now he couldn't care less. Joly would probably be the easiest one to confide in about his feelings for the former urchin, as he was a good listener and would keep things to himself if it was asked of him to do so, but at the minute he wasn't sure if he wanted to share this feeling with anyone, except perhaps Eponine.

He closed his brown eyes slowly, inhaling Eponine's vanilla and floral scent which warmed his heart and brought him comfort and ease. It was a truly heart-warming smell, and he would happily smell it all day long! When he opened his eyes, however, he noticed a tall, lanky man with thick greasy hair and tattered clothing striding towards him with clenched fists and a face that could freeze a fire.

Eponine felt her companion tense and looked up to see a familiar face rapidly approaching them. Enjolras gently pushed her behind him, protectively. "Monsieur?" his tone was formal and snipped, it was clear that he wasn't happy with this man's threatening demeanour.

Montparnasse growled, ignoring the fact that he had even spoken. He simply seethed, "_She is mine!_"

He glared at Eponine wildly, eyes cold and hard with anger, "What the hell are ya playing at, '_Ponine_?"

His harsh tone made her physically shudder, "Leave, Montparnasse. Now. Just go," she tried to match his tone with one she laced with venom, but the tremor gave her away.

"YOU ARE_ MINE_! YOU BELONG TO _ME_!" he roared, making a lunge at the brunette who instinctively stepped back.

Enjolras was confused. Baffled. But he was also furious, he could see the terror in Eponine's large dark eyes. He quickly blocked the imposter's reaching arms in their tracks, "I do believe she told you leave, _Monsieur_" he stated coolly, which somehow sounded a lot worse than a raised voice or shout. It was cold and hard like stone. Unforgiving. Unrelenting. "And I do believe that my friend is a strong, independent woman. She does _not_ belong to you. No lady _belongs_ to anyone." he voice gradually lowered in pitch and volume, ending in a deathly whisper. He stared at Montparnasse with eyes that Eponine had never seen filled with so much anger and fury. His hands were clenched into tight fists by his sides, and his body stood firm and rigid, at his full height he was probably over six feet tall, and he could stare his opponent squarely in his muddy grey eyes.

Montparnasse's lips twisted into a sick smirk, "Oh, but she does, ya see, me and Eponine go back -"

"Montparnasse no!" Eponine begged him, her eyes brimming with tears as she suspected what he was about to say. Her cheeks darkened with the shame and the humiliation of the memory...

He ignored her. "Whenever the boss got inta trouble and couldn't pay us, 'e would find us other... rewards, wouldn't he, 'Ponine?"

Enjolras stared at the man with a disgusted yet confused expression, and seeing this Montparnasse continued, knowing that he had the student's full attention.

"'e would bring 'Ponine, 'ere, to our meetin' spot. We used to like to play didn't we, 'Ponine? Chase was by far the most popular one, eh?" he chuckled darkly at the face of Eponine. She was white as a sheet with tears streaking down her cheeks, her pretty little face screwed up as if it was the only way she could suppress the sobs. Her little hands shook violently as they fisted into her hair, undoing the fine work of Glenda, who had delicately pinned it back.

This was the feeling Montparnasse craved. His power quenching his thirst for dominance. Seeing the young woman look so distressed sent a thrill through his body, it was like tasting the sweetest juice, to him. Every cell in his body cried out in bliss. But he was greedy. He needed more.

"You ran so fast! But I'd always get ya. Haha, do you remember, 'Ponine? Remember the struggles? How you used to try ter fight me? How you'd never win?"

Her whole body was trembling now, and he let out a manic laugh. "You were _pathetic_!" he spat.

"_Enough!_" Enjolras shouted. His face was red and his eyes burned into Montparnasse's skin like a hot poker. "Enough!" he repeated, as he raised his fist.

But before he could do anything else, Eponine swung her own fist back, throwing it square into Montparnasse's nose. Her eyes were still streaming tears, her face was still white and she shook where she stood, but the anger and hurt in her face was clear.

Montparnasse reeled backwards from the punch, his hands reflexively flying to his nose, which was now oozing sticky red liquid.

"I will never forget what you did. _Never_." she stated, her voice quivering slightly, "But you will leave me alone now. I want nothing more to do with you or that man you all call my Father, again!" She turned to Enjolras, who was staring with pure hatred at Montparnasse, who was still hunched over, nursing his nose.

He couldn't believe what he had done to her. What her Father had done to her. It made him sick to know that hands had forcefully stolen away Eponine's innocence, and to think that the man who had seeked her out got some kind of _thrill_ from it... he wanted nothing more than to give him a beating, himself but Eponine's small shaking hands on his arm turned away his attentions from the madman.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling her against his chest, where she sobbed. He was so sure that he would only ever need to comfort her like this once, for he would prevent anything from hurting her again, but here they were.

"Please don't hate me, Monsieur Enjolras. Please, it was never with my consent. Please, forgive me!" Eponine sobbed. Any chance that she had with Enjolras was surely lost now. He knew for certain that she was not innocent. She suspected that he had his suspicions, but now he had proof. Who would ever choose her? Who would ever want a used young woman from the streets who can't even bear children? Who would even want to be friends with a woman like Eponine Thenardier?

"I could never hate you, Eponine. Never... I..." Enjolras trailed off. He couldn't do it.

"Please, don't pity me, Enjolras! I suppose I knew it was only a matter of time before things went wrong... I will leave tonight." she sniffed, sadly. Enjolras wouldn't want to house her now.

"No! No, Eponine! It's not that, it's... I... I think, no, I know I..." Enjolras stammered and stuttered like a fool. He was renowned for conducting many moving speeches, but the words refused to flow when he needed them most. His mouth was dry and he could feel his skin burning up.

Eponine now stared at him, confused. Her hands subconsciously gripped onto the material of his shirt, clinging to his warmth and comfort.

Enjolras then realised that he could not adequately describe his feelings in words. He had to show her, and he only knew one one to do that.

He gently placed a finger under Eponine's chin, holding her position, before slowly tilting his head slightly and leaning in, placing his lips onto hers.

He heard her gasp and tense up slightly in shock, but after a moment she relaxed, her body loosening up as she clung tighter onto his cotton shirt – which was now stained with make-up – and tentatively, she kissed him back.

As he deepened the kiss, one his strong arms wound round Eponine's body and rested on her waist, holding her steady against his chest, which inside, his heart was beating manically, and the other hand found it's way into her hair. It was like silk, smooth and flowing, almost like water. Eponine responded to his actions, and he could feel her smiling through the kiss.

The two only parted when they needed oxygen. Enjolras rested his forehead against Eponine's, and he looked deep into her dark eyes before whispering, "Eponine Thenardier, I love you."

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**AN: yeeeeeeeeah, I hope it's ok... :S I'm not overly sure! haha if it's terrible I'll take it down and rewrite it!**

**please review me if you can? :D they make me happy (mostly) haha xxxx **


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: OK, right so ok, erm HELLO? I know this is so so so late and oh my actual gawd I wasn't expecting to see as many follows on this as I do now! **

**Where do I begin my tale of grief? or can I just grovel for forgiveness now? **

**I have been DROWNING in work, like everything has just exploded. I am a walking essay, I'm telling you. and I have seen other fics on here which are so much better than mine, I was just like "screw it." for ages. I had done stuff, but it wasn't good enough and tonight I decided that I should do something as all you lovely people are waiting! I'm so very sorry that this is a load of rubbish, my creative flair is fading and HELP ME PLEASE. It was 10pm when I started this chappie, and it is now 1:53am so... yeah. **

**I thought I would put some drama in because I can and I hope (hope hope hope) I can update more regularly - if you want it that is, I mean, this is a load of not good and yeah, I just thought I better give you SOMETHING. aha. so yeaaaah, sorry if I disappoint. **

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Eponine slowly awoke as the morning sunlight slowly drew her from her dreams. She mumbled slightly in protest, scrunching her eyelids tighter together, nuzzling further into her soft pillow and tugging the duvet over her face, in an attempt to shut the light away, and stay lost in her dream world.

In the end it was a pleasant dream, but it had, in fact, started off as a familiar nightmare that haunted the young woman's unconscious mind for years:

She had been walking along the streets at night, when a grimy hand reached out from no-where and closed around her neck – firm and unrelenting – squeezing tighter and tighter as Eponine gasped desperately for the oxygen her lungs so desperately cried out for. Then the voice started. The slow, deep and sinister chuckle that could make the bravest man's blood run cold. But it was a voice that she knew all too well. Montparnasse. Eponine could feel her life slipping away as she tried to break free from the man's grasp anyway she could: she thrashed and flailed, scratched at the hands around her neck and flung her limbs around in an attempt to knock the hand away from her, so she could run. She was sobbing now. Tears streaming down her face in a continuous stream, soaking her cheeks, which were once again dirty and bruised, and she cried out again and again for someone, anyone to help her. But then, a voice could be heard. A faint voice, which was low, but different to the sadistic laughter which up until this point was deafening. It was soothing, calm and almost melodious and then, out of the darkness Enjolras had appeared – rather abruptly – and all of a sudden, the hands and the voices drained away, like water down a drain. Enjolras had reached out and stroked her face, magically removing any trace of dirt and bruising and he whispered gentle words of comfort to her, before slowly leaning in and planting a loving kiss to her forehead.

That was where the dream ended, as Eponine couldn't recall anything further. If she was honest with herself, she would admit that she didn't try to remember anything more, she was more than content with what she had. She smiled slightly to herself, not needing to scold herself for her vivid imagination, as these images were not born of over-analysed gestures from kind hearted people. Enjolras really did kiss her, and he really did save her from Montparnasse. He chose her. Her. The bloody, dirty and bruised street rat with a tangled mess of hair and dressed in ill-fitting rags. Just thinking about it made the young woman's heart swell.

As she slowly became more and more aware of the real world, she noticed the distinct lack of a certain person's strong, protective arms around her waist and there was no soft sound of his breathing that often soothed her to sleep at night. Enjolras was gone.

She sat up slowly, looking around herself sleepily, squinting slightly as her large dark eyes adjusted to it's first glimpse of the morning's light. Enjolras's clothes were gone from the wooden chair, where he folded and placed them before coming to bed, and the night shirt he slept in was carefully folded and placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Something on his pillow caught her eye though, a piece of paper on which he had quickly written a note:

_Eponine,_

_I am sorry I have to leave but I should be back by the evening. Please help yourself to anything. _

_Yours, _

_Enjolras_

Eponine pored over the paper for some time before smiling happily, she could tell that he had tried to write as little as possible, and he had changed his handwriting from it's usual elegant splendour of swirls and flicks, to a more simplistic style to suit her reading level. Her lack of education was more than an embarrassment to the poor woman, and she could not look her new companion in the eye when he first sat down with her to help her improve her literacy skills, and though she knew he was far beyond her level, and she was probably testing his patience with her never ending stuttering and mistakes, he never once showed annoyance or boredom. And she was now certain that she was slowly making some progress, as she had managed to read his note, albeit slowly, without needing to ask for assistance!

With this achievement in mind, Eponine threw back the duvet and carefully pulled on her dress. It was a truly beautiful design that Glinda had created for her and the last thing the brunette wanted was to tear the material by not being gentle enough with it! Once dressed, and once she had dragged a comb through her dark tresses, she walked through to Enjolras's living room, heading straight for his over-filled book shelf. Eponine couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape her lips as she observed the area. Every shelf was filled with thick, leather bound books! There were piles of them, carefully arranged on the floor, because there just wasn't enough space on the shelves to home them all!

The whole thing was typically Enjolras. She carefully navigated the seemingly endless rows of books with her index finger, trying to find one which took her interest. And once she made her choice – a rather thick volume with an intricate design on the spine in a fine golden ink – she made her way over to the fireplace and sat down, leaning herself comfortably against the woodwork. She was going to read a book, and get better at it, so Enjolras would not have to feel the shame, she was certain he felt, when he realised just how poorly educated she was. She would make him proud.

She would earn her worth to him.

* * *

Meanwhile, Enjolras was sat in a lecture at the university, ferociously scribbling down notes – not on law, however, but on plans for the revolution. He was more determined than ever to fight to get the people of France heard, to help those oppressed to raise their angry voices. He wondered if it had anything to do with Eponine, the woman who had so quickly made a home in his heart. The woman who had so much to give to the world, but a cruel trick of fate had dealt her the cards to live a life of poverty and pain. Who was there to speak for her when she needed a voice? Who was there to offer a hand when life knocked her down? Then, she had no-one, but now she had him, and Enjolras was set on preventing other young people from suffering a similar fate.

Spending time with Eponine had helped him to realise just how the people of the lower class are forced to live: constantly on edge, jumping at any sudden noise, the distrust and the personal horrors each had to face. Eponine was very reluctant to speak much of her past, and her life on the streets, but Enjolras knew it was far from pleasant. The poor girl suffered recurring nightmares, that left her thrashing about and screaming.

He had been comfortably sleeping last night when he was woken by a pathetic whimper emitting from the form lying beside him. He watched curiously as Eponine seemed to gulp and scratch at her neck, her skinny legs kicking about desperately under the duvet. When she started crying, Enjolras got out of bed and walked over to her side, and unsure of what to do he quietly whispered to her, trying to coax her away from the terrors in her mind. Her face was twisted into one of pain and fear, her breath coming in shuddery gasps. He reached out and gently brushed away the dark strands of hair from her face which was now gleaming in a cold sweat, and as he visually saw her relax and grow still, he cautiously leant forward and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead. His lips twitched into a slight smile as he thought he saw her smile softly in her sleep. "Goodnight, Eponine," he whispered as he rose to his feet and made his way back round the bed and quietly slipping beneath the covers.

This was not the first time he had bared witness to the former gamine's night terrors. In weeks previous he had been frequently woken in the night after hearing her muffled sobs coming from the room next door – the room he had placed her bedroom.

He remembered how Eponine was completely stunned when he had shown her the bed he had brought for her whilst she was out with Gavroche one day - it was only a single bed, with mahogany bed posts, as the room was rather small, and the duvet was only a simple white one which he had hastily picked up from a local shop – but Eponine was wildly grateful. Her eyes had grown to a size similar to dinner plates and she opened and shut her mouth like a fish, not a sound passing her lips. Enjolras remembered her somewhat confused gaze as he told her to test it to see if it was to her liking, before she cautiously made her way over to the bed, gingerly stroking the soft cotton sheets with a growing smile which warmed his heart. It was then, that Enjolras thought that she had probably never had her own bed before - but the heart warming happiness of the young woman soon passed as the night closed in, and Enjolras had laid awake in his bed, listening to her quite snuffles, and as they refused to die down, he lit a candle and made his way in to see her.

Eponine had been sitting bolt upright in bed, her new duvet sodden with tears and pulled tightly around her as if it were a form of protection. Her face mirrored that of a very small child, lost and alone. She had started and whimpered as Enjolras opened the door and slowly made his way over. He had managed to soothe her considerably, and realising she would not let him go when he gently wrapped his arms around her, he lead her into his own room to sleep in his own bed – hoping that he would be able to provide her with the sense of security and safety she needed in order to sleep well. Unfortunately this was not the case, and the young woman still suffered inside her mind.

Enjolras made a mental note to talk to Joly, who may have some remedies to aid her sleep, as he once again tried to focus on his law lecture.

* * *

What had started off as an optimistic affair, quickly spiralled down hill. Hours later, and Eponine was only a chapter or so into the book, which she discovered was about the history of France, and she was growing increasingly frustrated and bored. Her head pounded and her vision blurred as she struggled to focus on the page of small printed text so, reluctantly admitting defeat, she book marked her page and slid the book under a cushion which was placed on the sofa, so she could resume her task after a quick break.

The former gamine couldn't decide on what to do, so she drifted about Enjolras's apartment a little aimlessly, glancing at the clock every so often. Eponine may not have been very skilled when it came to words and letters, but she was very quick on picking up how to tell the time – having to meet her Father's deadlines to the tasks he set her, meant that she had no choice but to learn how to read clocks – and she figured that Enjolras would not be home for a fair while and as she looked towards the direction of the kitchen, an excited smile graced her face.

Good women cooked meals or their loved ones, didn't they?

Eponine grinned to herself as she ignored the niggle at the back of her head that reminded her that she had never cooked in her life, and decided to see what she could cook for Enjolras upon his return.

Rummaging through the cupboards, the young woman discovered a variety of ingredients: flour, eggs, butter, milk and a substance (which after a dip from a finger) Eponine concluded must be sugar. Now, the former gamine was far from used to anything regarding cooking, but she and Gavroche had often passed the time gazing at the chef in the patisserie through the window, so she had a vague idea of what she could make.

She happily poured and mixed and tasted and created, deciding to clear up afterwards, and once she felt the mixture was satisfactory, she gently slid it into the oven, inside the bowl. She wasn't sure of how long the cake needed, and she thought she should better sit watch, to reduce the risk of burning. However, after minutes of continuously opening the door to check the progress, she decided that it was going to take longer than she thought so decided that she would settle herself down to read another chapter of the book she had started.

* * *

A certain Enjolras was quickly making his way home after a gruelling few hours in which he had chatted to Joly, unable to make sense of his medical jargon and argued with some pompous student who was making unjust comments about the poor, and how they are "born to sweep the streets" and after making his own point well and truly made, the taller and much more intimidating revoltionary stalked away, his mood worsening by the step. He tried to lighten his mood by reading some passages from his law book, as their dullness often proved somewhat therapeutic. But it did not work. How he wished he could just be home, curled up by the fire listening to the soft lull of Eponine's progressive reading and running his calloused fingers through her soft, silken hair.

However, as he made his way up the stairs to his flat he smelt the unmistakable stench of smoke. The book he had previously buried his nose into was hastily snapped shut as he threw open the door and ran straight into the kitchen.

"E-Eponine?" he spluttered incredulously as he waved his thick, leather bound book around in an attempt to clear the dense smoke.

The woman in question was coughing as she spun around and tried desperately to gather the breath needed to form the words to explain herself, "O-oh! Oh no! Monsieur Enjolras! I'm _so_ sorry, I-I didn't mean for -"

"What are you playing at, Eponine? You could have set the whole place alight!" Enjolras snapped, cutting her off and taking a step towards her. He realised his tone was sounding a lot harsher than he had initially intended, and as the smoke cleared he could faintly make out the silhouette of his target flinching.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean -"

"You didn't mean to? Eponine, I leave you alone for a_ day,_ and you do this?!"

"I'm sorry!" she wailed pitifully, as she sniffed and tried to gather up the burnt lump of what could have been a cake, "I only wanted to make you a -" her shaking hands dropped spoons and tins and the loud clattering against the tiles was enough to make the revolutionary snap. All he had wanted was a quiet evening.

Enjolras sighed in frustration as he snatched the utensils from the floor before her own shaking hands could, "Eponine, just go! I'll clear this, as you seem perfectly inadequate in doing so," he threw the tins onto the counter and raised his hands in exasperation, only realising how the look could be perceived when it was too late.

Eponine cowered slightly, screwing her eyes shut and whimpering as she waited for the blow, and after waiting for a moment, without even looking up, she ran from the room and out of the house. She didn't stop when she heard Enjolras call her name, and only ran faster when she heard his footsteps coming after her.

Enjolras felt terrible. There was no other word for it. He had raised his hands in a way that looked aggressive, and he should have known that his new friend – and dare he say it? - _romantic interest_, would have assumed that he meant to harm her, simply down to he fact that abuse was all that she knew.

He felt a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he saw her dash off around the corner, knowing he should go after her and apologise for his behaviour, but at the same time he knew that he should respect her wish for space.

As he cleared up his kitchen; sweeping the floor of crumbs and washing the utensils, he realised that she probably had good intentions. She probably only meant to bake him something, was it a cake? and it had gone horribly wrong.

And he had shouted at her.

Guilt weighed heavily on his broad shoulders as he made his way through to his main living space. The burden only got heavier when his dark eyes rested on the open book which lay on the floor.

_Eponine had been practising. _He thought to himself with a sad smile, _and I just... shouted at her._

Overcome with shame, Enjolras flopped into his armchair and put his head in his hands as he exhaled a heavy sigh and tried to work out how to better the mess he had created.

* * *

Eponine didn't know for sure where she was heading, but she decided that she could not return to Enjolras. She knew that she wasn't right for a civilised person such as him. She wasn't worth the dirt that his polished shoes walked on.

Her tears strolled freely down her cheeks as she plucked at the dress which was now dirty from her failed attempt at cookery. She was back to looking like a dirty little gamine again. She felt a fool, like she had just been playing a game of make believe and she had tricked herself into thinking it true. As if anything so good could happen to the likes of her?

_I told you, you stupid girl. _Her head spat, _but you never listen, do you? That's how you got into all this in the first place – not listening._

Eponine's heart was too broken to even come up with a counter argument.

She was now by the Seine, and dark clouds and increased wind were making the twilight even more eerie and sinister than it would be on a clear and calm night. The cold was already setting in, and the water of the river looked even more treacherous and unwelcoming, as it's almost black waves thrashed at the bank as the wind blew on it.

Seeking refuge from the wind and the rain that was sure to fall, Eponine trudged under the bridge, where she collapsed onto the floor and sobbed quietly into her hands.

She didn't hear the sound of shoes echoing as they approached her figure, and night closed in.

* * *

**OK, so yeaaaah. Pretty lame I know but hopefully it will get better? *runs and hides in the Himalaya's out of shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame***


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: again, I am very very sorry for the slow update! I stayed up for ages finishing this - but it's late so if there are lots of horrid mistakes then I'll sort it out but yeah. I know this is sort of slow moving but I don't know, I don't want to give you lots of drama every single time because then when I follow my (albeit vague) idea of a plot and give you important drama you'll all be like "heh" so yeah. But I hope it's not too bad! **

**and I'm going to try and be more positive about my writing now! and also, I saw les mis at the cinema and I can't help but imagine Aaron Tveit now when I write Enjolras - because lets face it, he was perfect. **

**so yeah, Chapter 9!**

* * *

Grantaire had been taking a leisurely evening stroll to the Café, along the bank of the Seine when the weather seemed to take a turn for the worst. With a grunt of annoyance he decided to walk in as much shelter as possible to avoid the risk of catching a cold and being bed-ridden, as that would mean no going out! But at the same time, he half wanted to get drenched in the hope that it would cure his pounding headache – caused by last night's absinthe, no doubt.

However, as he approached the bridge a daunting feeling overcame him. He hated walking under places such as these due to the fact that when he was younger, when he had first moved to Paris to study, he had been mugged of his wallet, books and watch under a bridge and ever since then, the gloomy tunnels filled him with dread.

_Snap out of it, for godsake, Grantaire you great louse! _He reprimanded himself as he felt his heart begin to race and his hands grow increasingly clammy with cold sweat. _You've signed up to fight in this damned revolt! How on earth do you expect to survive if you can't even walk under a deserted old bridge? _And with a determined breath in, the drunkard marched into the shadow. But he was soon halted when he heard the quiet but undeniable snuffles and sobs of a woman emitting from somewhere in the dark and damp.

Treading carefully, Grantaire cautiously moved towards the noise, and he could soon make out the shape of a person curled up on the dirt, seemingly oblivious to his presence. He may have been a drunk, but he was still a gentleman, and he still had a heart – and it reached out to the pitiful creature. Slowly, he crouched down and placed a hand on her shoulder, "Excuse me, mademoiselle, is everything alright?"

Grantaire mentally slapped himself. _Of course she isn't alright, you imbecile! Just look at her! _But as the woman snapped her head up, seemingly surprised at his voice, he recoiled slightly.

He was looking into the face of a very upset looking Eponine Thenardier.

"Eponine! Are you alright? What're doing under here, hey?" he tried to coax an answer from her by sending out a lopsided grin. He hadn't known Eponine for very long, but he knew her well enough to know that she was a rather private person, and working out what was bothering her was a very tricky business. "Won't Enjolras be wondering where you are? It's getting on a bit in the day..."

_There we go_ Grantaire inwardly exclaimed as he saw Eponine's face contort as she tried not to let herself cry at the mention of his friend.

"I'm fine, Grantaire... R-really. I was j-just taking a walk and_ -_"

"Oh just leave it! If you don't want to talk about it to me, that's fine but don't bother _lying_. Come on, I'm going to get a drink and you look as though you could do with one," he said, offering her his hand as he resumed his standing position, "Hm... make that a few!" he decided, after looking at her miserable expression with a wink and a friendly smile.

Eponine smiled slightly, but it didn't reach her eyes. She didn't want to go off hanging around with bourgeois boys again, and end up convincing herself that she's something she's not, and never will be. Yet at the same time, Grantaire was safe and warm and she enjoyed his company. Plus, from what she could gather, he was somewhat of an outcast among the Les Amis, for being drunk most of the time led some of them to believe that he wasn't taking the cause seriously and that he was a liability, so she felt as though he were more on her level than the likes of Enjolras.

* * *

"Here you go, mademoiselle!" Grantaire announced as he almost reluctantly placed yet another mug of ale onto the table in front of Eponine. As he did so, he sat himself in his wooden chair opposite her, slurping out of his own drink.

He was rather surprised at how well the Thenardier girl was holding up – he wasn't overly sure why, and it shocked him no end, but his urge to drink to oblivion tonight had somewhat disappeared, replaced by the feeling that he should be taking care of his friend. It surprised him. Eponine however seemed to want to drink more and more. Grantaire was a bit wary, as he wasn't too sure of what to expect from a drunk gamine.

When _he_ drank, he had always become merry, and joyful, taking to dancing around and singing loudly to songs which he didn't know the right lyrics to (according to the tales told by his friends the day after) – but he had had a fairly decent upbringing, which included no financial worries, or abuse. The worst thing to happen to Grantaire was to lose his mother but even that was at a young age, and he could hardly remember it.

Eponine, however, had lived a _very_ different life. She had suffered merciless abuse and probably hadn't eaten a decent meal for months due to her social class. Grantaire's belief was that he was a happy drunk because he had had a reasonably happy life, but Eponine could do anything.

There was also the matter of how would Enjolras react if he found out that he had let his Eponine get drunk out of her wits? Something had clearly happened between the pair, but Grantaire held no doubts that his friend would not stop caring for this woman and he feared for what he would do to him if he knew that he had let his Eponine intoxicate herself so much. He had never seen him so... soft towards another person, except maybe Gavroche, but he was only a child and it was clear as crystal to see that that was an entirely different form of compassion. Enjolras was a man who once he had his heart set on something, it would not change. And Eponine was the first woman who had managed to catch his eye, and show the rest of the Les Amis that he was not made of marble, as many of them had speculated.

Grantaire was snapped out of his inner musings when he heard Eponine clear her throat and look at him.

"... I don' even know why I bother..." she hiccuped, taking another long swig out of her mug, and wiping her mouth with the back of the sleeve of her dress. Her head was feeling slightly heavier than normal, but her body felt at least ten times lighter. The room was moving, she was almost certain, and Grantaire seemed to be swaying about across the table as she tried to focus her dark eyes upon him.

Grantaire's brow furrowed in confusion, "bother with what?"

Eponine looked at him like he was being deliberately obtuse, "trying to be a good person, mon dieu!" she cursed as some of her drink sloshed over the edge of her mug onto the table, and she clumsily tried to mop it up with her sleeve. She looked up to see Grantaire's frown of uncertainty and sighed heavily, "And aren't you the... the, whatsit um... oh yeah! Aren't you meant to be the _inebriated_ one of the group?"

Grantaire couldn't help the smirk that twitched on his lips as he listened to the Thenardier girl slur and slip up, "Indeed, Mademoiselle. Your observational skills are outstanding," he stated sarcastically.

"Then why aren't you drinking with me?!" she cried and she cut him off as he opened his mouth to speak again, "And don't you... don' ya _dare_ say ya don' feel like it! I know you'd be lying – _people can never change_" she told him, her slurred voice cracking slightly. Anyone else would think it was the alcohol affecting her vocal chords in such a way – alcohol often distorted Grantaire's voice – but Grantaire knew that this was more than ale. This was emotion shining through, as her guard came down. Another thought which sprung to mind was: _Drunken words are sober thoughts._

Grantaire thought that this was a clue to show that Eponine would now talk. He knew from past experiences that once you had a certain amount of drink in your system, your tongue worked ten times faster than your brain did. "'Ponine, what happened?"

Eponine's glare wavered slightly, and she took a deep breath and hesitated before drunkenly explaining what had happened. Grantaire listened patiently and intently as her words all seemed to flow into one and her voice was becoming even more distorted as tears of frustration and heartbreak clogged her throat. When she was done she went to down the last of her drink, only to curse when she found it empty.

She threw the cup back onto the table and rubbed her face, "I jus' want someone to love who can l... love me back," she whispered, her eyes drooping ever so slightly.

Grantaire smiled sympathetically, "I think you already do," he said quietly.

* * *

Back at the flat, Enjolras was agitatedly pacing. He wanted to look for Eponine and apologise for his rashness. He was also deeply concerned that he had let her go out by herself so soon after the incident with her father and his gang – what if they were to find her again?

The thought of seeing Eponine on the cold, hard ground all bloody and bruised was enough for him to snatch his red jacket from the hanger and run out of the door.

He ran blindly through the Labyrinth of alleyways and streets, his deep eyes scanning every shadow desperately. He searched for a good half hour before growling in frustration and deciding to go to the Café and hope that some of his friends had decided to visit - even though they had no meeting scheduled for the evening - and ask if they had seen his Patria.

He approached the building at a fast pace and he poked his head round the door with a sense of urgency, his collected demeanour crumbling slightly. His eyes searched the room for a familiar face, be it Coufeyrac or Joly – he really didn't care – he just wanted to get Eponine back. He just wanted to know that she was _safe_.

Enjolras was overcome with relief when he saw the woman herself sitting at a table in the corner, though a frown soon developed on his forehead when he noticed she was sitting with none other than Grantaire. She seemed rather at ease with him, nothing like how she was earlier.

_Oh, stop it, Enjolras. You scared her! What did you expect? Green does not look good on you. _He scolded himself as he made his way over to the table.

Grantaire started slightly and stood up from his seat when he saw his friend approaching, "Enjolras! Good evening!" Enjolras noted that his body was steady and his voice was untainted by alcohol.

He turned his gaze to Eponine. "Eponine?" he asked her, noticing her odd posture, "are you ok?" visions suddenly flashed before him of her being injured on that night a few weeks back. He crouched by her side and pushed away the hair which had fallen over her face. He could smell the ale on her immediately.

"mmm, 'm fine M'sieur, just a tired street rat's all," she murmured as she lifted her head to address him.

Enjolras couldn't help but feel wounded as she regarded him formally after hearing her call him Enjolras for so long. It didn't sound right and he hoped she would not say it again. "I see no street rats around here, 'Ponine," he told her gently, "just a very tired, and very drunk young woman."

He shot a piercing glare at Grantaire, and if looks could kill then Grantaire was convinced he would have died five times. "How did this happen?!" he hissed angrily, nodding towards Eponine who was now mumbling incoherent words to no one in particular as her head lolled into her arms. "I know for a fact that she didn't have any money when she came out, so I know that you're the one who let her get in this state!"

Grantaire's usually soft expression hardened considerably, "_This_ state is a damned-sight better than the one I found her in!" he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of venom. Grantaire was a strong character, but he knew that fighting with Enjolras wasn't a wise choice to make. When he saw him raise an eyebrow in question he reluctantly explained how he came across their friend under the bridge.

Enjolras couldn't hide the guilt that flooded his features and he looked into his friends eyes with a rare display of emotion, "I truly didn't mean to upset her," he confessed.

Seeing their strong leader so _emotional_ put Grantaire on edge. He wasn't used to seeing what was going through his head and he didn't really know how to respond, "Look, just take her home and let her sleep it off. The amount she's had, she won't remember much and you can just apologise and it will all be fine again!" he offered a smile in the hope that it would lighten the solemn face of the man before him.

Enjolras smiled weakly, before inhaling deeply and regaining some of his usual strong character. He gently rubbed Eponine's shoulder and coaxed her to stand. She reluctantly did so, and leaned heavily on him as they slowly made their way out of the café.

"Thank you, Grantaire. Thank you for keeping her safe," he nodded gratefully as he tightened his arm around Eponine's waist, helping to keep her standing upright.

"It's what friends do," the sober drunkard shrugged lightly with a smile as he made his way over to the bar to buy himself a drink, his thirst restored now the weight of responsibility had been lifted. He felt as though he deserved this drink.

* * *

The pair managed to walk a few meters before Enjolras decided that it would be easier to carry her. He easily scooped her up into his arms and although she groaned in protest, after a few moments she was silent, and Enjolras looked down to see that she had fallen asleep and her head rested on his shoulder and her hands subconsciously held onto the fabric of his crimson jacket.

She looked so peaceful.

Enjolras walked up the stairs to his flat as quietly as he could as not to disturb Eponine, and he gently laid her down onto the bed, lifting the duvet up to her chin. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh at the fact that he had automatically brought her to his room, even though she was probably too intoxicated to suffer nightmares tonight. He considered moving her, but she looked so calm that Enjolras just couldn't find it in his heart.

After preparing himself for bed, he climbed under the duvet and laid on his side so he could examine his love's face before going to sleep. He smiled lovingly as he slowly reached out and stroked a finger across her cheek, as if to wipe away any of the tears that he caused – accidentally or not. "I am so sorry, mon amour," he whispered gently with a sad smile.

He jumped slightly as Eponine snuffled, and he quickly withdrew his hand, but as he did so the young woman frowned slightly and sleepily shuffled closer to him, resting her head on his chest before becoming silent and still once more. Enjolras smiled genuinely and wrapped his arm round her, holding her close, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep knowing that he would have to tend to a very hungover young woman in the morning, not that he particularly minded. As long as she was with him.

The two slept soundly in each-other's embrace, undisturbed by nightmares for the first time.

* * *

**So yeaaaaah, fluffy ending really and it seems rather... broken? but it's late and I've been working lots so I wanted to write some cute stuff haha :') I hope this was ok? :S**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: hello again! sorry this is so late, I've been drowning in work and I have had practically NO FREE TIME, so this has taken me aaages to churn out. On the up side, I have FINALLY worked out where this story is going to go so yaaay! There was more to this chapter, but I've taken it out because I can do it better but I'm too tired now, but felt as though I should give you something. so yeah, sorry that it's so short! I took all your reviews into account and they're so lovely and I appreciate them so much - like, they make my day!**

**I'm not 100% happy with this, but I hope it's acceptable?**

* * *

The first thing Eponine took note of was her aching head. She grumbled and groaned as she tried to shut out the light which was streaming in through the windows. Suddenly she realised, she was in a very familiar feeling bed. A bed she never expected to lay in again.

She shot up into a sitting position, immediately groaning and squeezing her eyes shut, clutching her head as it pounded and spun, making her feel nauseatingly dizzy. A soft chuckle caused her to snap her eyes open, "M-Monsieur Enjolras? What am I doing here?" she asked bluntly, trying to hide the confusion that bubbled away inside. She had shown him weakness far too many times before – it had to stop.

Enjolras had woken a few hours beforehand, and had quietly pottered around the flat, tidying his books and drafting speeches before waiting for Eponine to wake up from her drunken slumber. He shrugged in response to her question, smirking slightly as he offered her a glass of water he had poured for her before he sat down to wait, "You tell me, _mademoiselle._" He sat back in the chair that was placed by the bed, running a hand through his curls, they were rather unruly in the mornings, and even though he had been up a while, Enjolras couldn't see the point of making himself presentable when he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. If it was formalities that she wanted, formalities she would get. Two could play at her game, and Enjolras wasn't one for losing.

Eponine narrowed her eyes, hesitantly taking a sip from her glass. She struggled to determine whether or not it made her feel better or worse, "Seriously, _what am I doing here? _I left!" she demanded, throwing back the duvet and swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress, pausing to grip onto the bed post and breathe deeply as an intense feeling of nausea gripped her system. She held a hand out to stop Enjolras coming closer as she heard his footsteps come her way, "I'm fine," she assured him through gritted teeth. She didn't need his help. Not anymore.

Enjolras frowned as he examined Eponine's face. It was eerily pale with the slightest tinge of green, and he was wary to take her words for truth. He was kind of hurt by her abrupt coldness towards him, she was perfectly fine with him last night and her sudden change confused him. He wasn't sure but he suspected that she would need a little more persuading to forgive him. She was far too proud and broken to accept apologies so easily. Did she even_ remember_ him saying how sorry he was?

Once the bout of sickness passed enough for her to open her eyes, Eponine pulled on her boots and trusty trench coat and made her way to the door, albeit slower than she anticipated. Her legs felt heavy and as though she was wading through mud. She was halted when a certain someone grabbed her arm and jerked her back, "Where are you going?" Enjolras asked incredulously – surely she wasn't mad enough to leave him, _again_?

"If I recall correctly, Monsieur, I think I left last night and I'm not one to go back on my word," she glared at him, but his face remained neutral. If anything he looked baffled, rather than intimidated. She was losing her touch, "you made it quite clear that you didn't want me around," she added spitefully. She almost immediately regretted it when she saw the flash of hurt pass through Enjolras' sapphire eyes.

"I told you, 'Ponine. I really am sorry," he mumbled, with sincerity. He still felt rather ashamed at his actions, and if he was honest, he was unsure of how to get her to forgive him as simply apologising didn't seem to be enough.

Unable to handle looking at his sorry face, Eponine spun on her heel to put her back to him and continue her way to the door. Unfortunately due to this movement, nausea struck her once again, only this time with a fierce insistence. Involuntarily, she doubled over, clamping her hand to her mouth as her body began to heave. _She could not be sick on Enjolras' floor_!

Enjolras was there in an instant, pushing a bucket into her arms. He had a feeling that this would happen and so he had placed a bucket by the bed when he first woke up. He tried not to cringe as his friend retched and gagged, and he held her hair away from her face with one hand, and rubbed her back with his other as he waited for her to finish.

Once she was done, and he had triple checked that she would not be sick again for a little while, Enjolras disposed of the contents of the bucket. He didn't particularly enjoy playing nurse, but he had done it more than his fair amount of times for Grantaire, so Eponine was no different, really. If anything, he would rather care for the young woman. When he walked back into the main living space he discovered that the brunette had not moved an inch, and taking pity Enjolras helped her to the sofa, much to her chagrin.

"For the last time, Monsieur: _I am fine_!" she moaned, but her voice lacked the bitter venom it had previously possessed, and her body was too weak to shrug him away.

"I know," Enjolras stated evenly, "but leaving you on the floor is not only uncomfortable for you, but it is also inconvenient for me. Now, I'm going to get you some toast – it settles the stomach, according to Joly."

Eponine huffed in agitation as she watched him walk away, and she could have sworn she saw the flicker of a smirk twitch on his lips. Without realising, her own mouth had turned into a ghost of a grin, and she quickly righted herself when she noticed. She would not cave in so easily.

* * *

A few hours dragged by, and Eponine had finally nibbled her way through a piece of toast. She had stubbornly refused for a long while, claiming that the food made her stomach churn, but Enjolras was just as stubborn and insisted that she at least _try_. He couldn't help the uncharacteristic grin from forming when Eponine finally brought the bread to her lips. He very much enjoyed winning, and there was something even more satisfying about winning against the young Thenardier.

Now he sat at his desk, writing out another speech which he was intending to orate in the evening to his friends. He wanted to rally up more volunteers to the cause, as he knew that the battle to come would be bloody and without a decent number behind them, the Les Amis didn't stand a chance. However, it was becoming increasingly impossible to write when a certain person sat on his sofa drumming her fingers on the arm, and sighing loudly every few seconds. Enjolras ran a hand through his curls in frustration. Enough was enough.

"Eponine! Please!" he snapped, "I'm trying to work and your incessant tapping is very distracting," he added in a slightly softer tone, not wanting to scare her away again.

"But I'm _bored_," she whined, as if that was excuse enough.

Eponine had decided that as she couldn't bring herself to leave Enjolras's flat today, she may as well stop being so cold towards him, as he was her only source of company and if she was truthful to herself she would admit that she missed talking to him, and she missed the way he could make her feel when he looked at her with those fierce passionate eyes, and the way they would light up when he became enthralled in a conversation. She had also managed to piece together a few things from the previous night, during the silence.

She remembered drinking in the Café with Grantaire, and she remembered it tasting stronger than any other drink she had tasted. _Probably because all the alcohol is watered down in the slums to make it go further,_ she thought somewhat bitterly to herself. Then she remembered the flash of a familiar red jacket and suddenly she was being carried? She wasn't overly sure. She also remembered being laid on the bed, and the soft brush on her cheek. It was cold when the feeling went, and she suddenly felt very much alone, so she moved closer to the warmth which seemed to radiate from beside her. Eponine wasn't sure if what she recalled was fact or fiction, but she thought that the warmth was Enjolras, and she was furious with herself if what she remembered was true – she couldn't have actually _snuggled up to _him, could she?! She decided that she should never drink again.

She was drawn out of her inner musings by Enjolras himself, "Well, what do you suggest to do then?"

Eponine chewed on her lip as she looked around the room for inspiration. Suddenly her eyes glittered, "read me your speech," she all but commanded.

The young man was slightly taken aback, but practically jumped at the chance. He still needed to finish it, but he knew that he could rely on the ex-gamine to provide an honest opinion. He cleared his throat as he stood from his chair, moving into the centre of the room as though taking to centre-stage.

Eponine had to admit that the words that poured from his mouth were like nothing she had ever heard. They were like some exotic fruit which was fresh, vibrant and left you desperate for more. However, she was still determined to show him that she was not the pathetic little wretch she had been prior, and let out a fake yawn.

"That's very rude, you know," Enjolras snapped. He had thought his speech was going well for the first draft, and he thought that his one-woman audience was captivated. He bristled when Eponine shrugged nonchalantly. He examined her more closely, and almost smacked his head when he noticed the mischievous glint to her deep brown eyes. She was doing this deliberately, and he knew it. If she wanted games, she would get games. "I'd like to see you do better," he challenged her, his voice low.

If there was one thing Eponine loved, it was a challenge. She rose to her feet from the sofa and took a step towards the young man, "you do, do you?"

Enjolras felt himself being pulled towards her as though she were a magnet, he managed to stop himself when they were less than a foot apart, "Do you really think you can rally more people than me?"

She grinned up at him, "give me a couple of hours, then we'll go to the market and whoever can rally the most volunteers wins?"

"You're sure you want to do this?"

Eponine simply grinned even wider before striding over to Enjolras's desk, grabbing a wad of paper and a quill and then moving to sit in the corner at the other end of the room, using a thick encyclopedia to lean on as she began to scribble out some notes. She could feel his blue eyes boring into her for a few moments before she heard the sound of his desk chair scraping against the floorboards and the sound of a quill scratching furiously on parchment.

All bitter thoughts and feelings of sickness were pushed aside as a new priority took to the spotlight.

The game was on, and neither Eponine or Enjolras were willing to lose.

* * *

**sooo...? was that alright for now? I know it's short but this was the best cut off point I think. Thank you, feel free to leave a review! :) xx**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: wow, sorry for the late update again. I have done so many drafts of this but everytime I went to post it I was unhappy with it and decided to rewrite it. But today I realised I needed to put SOMETHING up, so here you go! I hope it's ok, there's a lot of dialogue but yeah. I couldn't really help it!**

* * *

Eponine would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't the slightest bit nervous about what she had put herself in for; but she was a Thenardier, and lying was in her blood. She inhaled deeply before gathering her page of notes and taking Enjolras' arm, which he had offered to her as they left the apartment.

As they walked to the market, a certain little gamin came bounding over to them, grinning from ear to ear, "'Ponine! Monsieur Enjolras!" he greeted them, taking his sisters hand as he invited himself to join their stroll.

"What're you doing? The meetin's not for ages!" he asked, eyeing the papers under the arms of the couple. As Enjolras and Eponine looked at each other, silently discussing whether or not to keep their competition to themselves, Gavroche decided to snatch the paper from under Eponine's arms. He couldn't read but he was a nosy little boy, and wanted to have a look nevertheless.

"Oi!" Eponine cried, making to grab the paper back. It wasn't that she was worried that he would read it and laugh at her ideas – she knew he was less educated than her and the letters she had scrawled in her unprofessional handwriting probably looked like meaningless shapes and lines to him – she was more concerned that her partner would catch a glimpse and mock her, or in a very unlikely case, steal her ideas. Once she had successfully pulled the page from his dirty grip, she swatted him over the head with it. "What have I told you about stealing from me, huh?" she scolded with a soft chuckle, tucking the paper securely under her arm once more.

"Well, I wouldn't have done it if you just _told _me what you were doing," he defended himself, giving his sister a shove, knocking her into Enjolras who let out a huff of embarrassment as he stumbled ever so slightly, being caught off guard.

The blonde adjusted his jacket before turning to look down at the cheeky urchin, "If you insist on knowing everything, little Gavroche, then me and Eponine are having a... contest."

Gavroche spluttered and looked to Eponine with a disbelieving grin, which only seemed to widen when she affirmed Enjolras' statement with a nod. After some persistent pestering, the little boy finally found out just what the pair were competing for. His face reflected that of a child who had received everything they could ever dream for at Christmas.

"Are the guys coming to watch?" he asked, referring to the Les Amis.

"No, they don't need to be involved in this, they'll just be a distraction and the results wouldn't be fair," Enjolras told him. He didn't want his friends to know about this game he was about to play – they'd tease him relentlessly and he didn't want that at all. They needed to focus on the revolution at hand.

"Hey wait! Where are you going?!" he shouted as Gavroche suddenly let go of Eponine's hand and started running down the street.

"Oh nowhere in particular, Monsieur Enjolras, don't you worry!" the ten year old called over his shoulder, his signature grin completely contradicting his words.

"He's gone to get everyone."

"Yes, thank you 'Ponine. I gathered that your brother would do something as such, he's related to you afterall."

Eponine let out a loud laugh which echoed through the air like a bell and warmed Enjolras' heart, and he dropped her arm and moved to wrap his arm around her - still tiny - waist instead, and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

"You know, it's not too late to call this thing off?" he whispered into her ear, a smirk once again twitching his lips.

Eponine turned her head to look him straight in his hypnotisingly blue eyes, "like hell," she whispered with a grin. "I'll rally so many people, that you'll be coming to me for tips!" she kissed the tip of his nose before turning her attention back to the street ahead.

"we'll see" Enjolras muttered, mostly to himself as he looked down at the fiery brunette in his arm with soft eyes and a gentle smile of adoration.

* * *

The market was a lot busier than the pair had expected, and Eponine was filled with a heightened sense of anxiety. Normally she would thrive under these conditions as it gave her the means to be anonymous, but now she was going to have to get up and show herself to everyone. It filled her with a sense of anxiety which was so unlike anything she had ever experienced. She didn't know if this was how Enjolras felt before every speech he ever did, or if it was due to the fact that she was still just a street rat in a clean, pretty dress, friends with bourgeois students. Either way, she felt sick.

Enjolras looked to Eponine to make a comment on the number of people, but stopped when he noticed that her face had paled slightly. He cupped her cheek with his hand and gently turned her head to look at him, "you don't have to do this, 'Ponine," he told her sincerely, rubbing his thumb across her skin, making her blush a shade of pink which he found endearing.

"No, I can do this!" she declared with a determined grin, and she moved his hand away from her face and kissed it lightly before pulling away and moving to stand on a barrel and start her speech before she lost her nerve.

She started speaking, loud an clear, "Citizens of St Michel, it is time for change..." she trailed off when she noted that everyone simply looked at her with a disapproving glare before carrying on with their daily business. She wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the fact that she was a female – Enjolras never seemed to have this trouble, and she had watched him address many a crowd. She had been downtrodden all her life, and she wasn't going to let herself be ignored anymore. If the Les Amis could listen to her thoughts and ideas, then the market people could do so as well.

"_HEY!" _she shouted at the crowd. A large number of people stopped to look at her and she smiled inwardly, _well, that got their attention_ she thought smugly. She started her speech again, much louder and much more confident this time. She spoke her thoughts with a fierce passion to rival that of Enjolras' and she emphasised her points with gestures of her hands and arms. She didn't just want them to _hear_ her, she wanted them to _listen. _And when someone tried shouting over the top of her, she simply screwed up her page of notes – she wasn't using them anyway, she found that the words just seemed to flow from her lips without having to give it much thought – and hurled it at them, successfully hitting them on the back of the head. A few members of the crowd laughed and cheered, already animated from Eponine's powerful speaking, and so the offending individual turned a deep shade of red out of embarrassment and was then silent once more.

She had the crowd captivated, they hung onto her every word and cheered when she spoke of being oppressed. She spoke uncensored tales of how life was for people on the streets, and how things needed to change for the the men as well, not just the women, and not just the children. Enjolras watched all this from the sidelines, openly beaming as his heart swelled with pride for the young woman. He no longer cared about winning this stupid competition, because he had already lost to her. He had lost his resistance to love.

Out of nowhere a hand clapped Enjolras on his shoulder, jerking him from his inner musings. He turned to see who has assaulted him, and was greeted by a worried looking Joly.

"Enjolras, are you feeling quite alright? You haven't blinked or even _moved_ since we got here and I really think you should come with me so I can examine you. I was reading earlier and I really think you may have Cholera and -"

"Joly! Leave the man alone, he's suffering from an incurable disease," Courfeyrac interrupted the young hypochondriac. He spoke in an overly sombre tone, though he was grinning from ear to ear, a smile which almost mirrored that of Gavroche, who was clinging onto his back.

Joly paled and looked as though he wanted to be sick, he took a good three steps away from their leader, spluttering incoherently and frantically rubbing his hands on his trousers, as if to wipe away any contagious germs.

Courfeyrac nodded sadly at him and declared dramatically, "Oh Joly, our dear friend is suffering from an awfully strong case of... _LOVE!_"

Enjolras glared at his "friend" as Courfeyrac threw his head back and laughed loudly, along with the rest of the Amis and Gavroche. Even Joly was shakily chuckling along, though he still eyed the blonde with uncertainty.

"We're only messin' with you, Enj!" Grantaire slurred slightly. He had brought a bottle of alcohol with him, apparently.

Enjolras just stared at the Amis and then gave Gavroche a pointed glare. The gamin refused to falter under the disapproving look and simply shrugged, claiming that it would've been unfair to let everyone miss out on such an event.

He was going to make a comment when he realised that the crowd around him was once again talking far too loudly to actually be listening to Eponine – in fact, he couldn't hear her strong, impassioned voice at all anymore! - and when he turned to the spot where she had been speaking, he saw it was empty. He felt as though he had just swallowed a heavy lump of lead, and it was now resting in the pit of his stomach, and he scanned the crowd with his sharp blue eyes, desperate to catch a glimpse of her long dark hair which always managed to fall out of the ribbons she tried to tie it back with.

"Where's Eponine gone? Have you seen her?" He asked the group, his tone coming out a lot harsher than he anticipated. He practically growled when all shook their heads in slight confusion.

Gavroche hopped down from Courfeyrac's back, and tugged on Enjolras' sleeve, "You don't think she'd go running off do ya, Enjolras?" he whispered, formalities forgotten as he felt fear bubble inside his stomach. Gavroche was still haunted by nightmares of the night where he had nearly lost his sister, and he couldn't help but panic that she was going to get herself in trouble by wandering off on her own.

"I don't know, Gavroche," Enjolras replied, marching through the crowd. He asked random people if they had seen what way she had gone, but some pointed one way while others pointed another and some just claimed that they had no idea at all. He knew that some were lying. People don't just vanish from thin air.

He tried to think of why anyone would lie, and all he could really think of was that something or someone may have scared them into not saying anything. The thought chilled his blood as his mind snapped straight to a certain group of people, who were well known and well feared throughout Paris.

Enjolras looked to Gavroche, to ask if he could show him some places where she may have gone, but he stopped when he saw him staring at the ground. His body was trembling and his eyes were wide as saucers. Following his gaze, he found a wooden chip on the floor with a symbol roughly engraved into it. He didn't understand.

"Gavroche what is this?" he asked, picking up the splintering wood and examining the symbol, hoping the meaning behind it would leap out at him like a word on the page of a book.

The little boy looked up at the blonde revolutionary with fear in his eyes, and Courfeyrac, who had followed them into the crowd along with the rest of the Amis, placed his hands on his shoulders to stop him shaking. He met Enjolras' worried eyes when Gavroche uttered a single sentence:

"This is the symbol of the Patron Minette."

* * *

**dun dun duuuuuuun! I hope this was ok, I'm sorry if it wasn't! leave me a review and tell me what you thought... please? :)**

**Thank you!**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Oh wow. It has been _so long_ since I have updated and I am so sorry! I've been really busy with exams and stuff, but I have been a bit lazy and I'm so sorry! Thank you for sticking with me and I hope this chapter will do for now! I'm writing the next chapter as we speak so it should be up later today or tomorrow. I know this is short but I think that this was a good place to end this chapter. It's not my best work because I started ages ago and finished it today, so it might not be as good. I hope it's ok though. **

**Once again I am really very sorry! Please forgive me! **

* * *

Eponine practically growled when she saw the familiar faces of the Patron Minette amongst the crowd. She knew that they would've found her eventually but she didn't know just how they knew where she was at that precise moment, and the gang didn't ever just happen upon people.

She glanced over at the Les Amis, though she was mainly watching Enjolras. If he saw them then he probably wouldn't hesitate to throw a few punches, and Bahorel would practically leap at the chance to join in. Saying that, she suspected that the whole group would like to take their turn at beating the men who had hurt her. She was still undecided of how she felt about their protectiveness over her, she was much too used to having to fend for herself and she didn't want to be anyone's charity case. But she had to admit that it felt nice, knowing that the boys all cared for her and wanted to help where they could. However, the Patron Minette were smart, and Eponine would've placed everything she owned on the idea that they were wanting to catch the men's attention. If they wanted to take her without a fuss, they would use other means, probably in the dark of the night where they became sinister shadows, lurking in the corners.

Seeing that Enjolras was distracted from her, busy being harassed by the others, she slowly tailed off her speech, making sure that there wasn't a sudden silence that would alert the Amis that she had stopped. She then weaved her way through the crowd, moving a whole manner of directions to throw any nosey onlookers off the path she planned to take.

She stalked down an alley, with a look of grim determination on her face as she tried to swallow the growing fear she felt inside her. She knew that the gang would have followed her despite her intricate path - after all, it was them who taught her the skill.

Once she was deep enough into the dank alley, she spun on her heel to face them, her face stony and her voice cold, "what do you want?"

The dirty men all looked at each other with a knowing grin, which made Eponine feel uneasy. It was Montparnasse who was the first one to address her, though. He smiled at her, showing his rotting yellow teeth as he took a step towards her. "That's no way to greet an old friend, is it, 'Ponine?"

Eponine scoffed, "You aren't a friend. None of you are my _friends_," she spat the words out as though the very idea left a sour taste in her mouth.

Montparnasse's features contorted and he nodded at Babet and Claquesous who advanced towards the girl and pushed her roughly against the wall.

"Are you too good enough for us now, huh?" Montparnasse whispered into her ear, his voice hard and cold with anger.

When Eponine simply glared at him, he growled and shoved her harder against the damp brickwork. "I asked you a question," he snarled.

Eponine blinked back the pain that shot up her spine as she hit the stones. She couldn't seem weak to him, not now. The student's had made her finally feel special, as though she was worth something. She didn't need to put up with the gang anymore, especially Montparnasse. She tried to shove him off, and stumbled forward ungracefully when he let her go with a sinister chuckle.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Eponine demanded, curling her fingers to form fists, ready to attack if the gang made a move at her.

Montparnasse gave her a rough shove, then tightly grabbed her wrist when she nearly fell down. "Watch yer tongue, hussy," he warned her, yanking her to her feet.

"Yer Dad wants ya back," Babet grunted with a sly smile. "He ain't too 'appy with ya."

Eponine scoffed and was thankful for the poor lighting in the alley way, as she was pretty sure that her eyes would give away her unease. "He's never happy with me unless I'm bringing him francs from dawn til dusk. So tell me something I don't know."

She yelped when she felt a hand grope her behind, and she turned and slapped the offender, indignant fire burning behind her eyes.

Montparnasse growled and grabbed Eponine's wrist, "There'll be none of that, _mon amour,_" he planted a rough kiss to her mouth. A sick thrill buzzed through his veins as he felt her try, unsuccessfully, to squirm away from him. "That's no way to treat your lover, now, is it?" he whispered against her lips.

"I'm not your lover, 'Parnasse. I never was, and I never will be. Why Can't you just leave me alone?"

Something clicked inside Montparnasse at Eponine's stubborn defiance. He clenched his jaw and a low growl emitted from inside his throat. His hands shook as he pointed a finger at her accusingly. "I don't care what you feel, but _you belong to me_"

Eponine remembered her talks in the Musain with the boys, and how they had all told her with fierce insistence that she was an individual who belonged to no-one. It was their faces of friendship and warmth which drove her to her next actions.

"I said, and I will say it again: I am a free woman and I do not belong to you!" She looked around at the shadowy faces of the gang, "None of you. Not even my Father. Now let me alone, all of you. You may have stolen my innocence but that is not me! I am _not _an object, your _possession_. I am more than just a _body _and I deserve respect. Now, excuse me I have a new life to continue with!" She spat at Montparnasse and made to push past him.

Montparnasse let out an angered cry as he wiped the spit from his face, and the men all lunged after Thenardier's daughter, making to grab her as she made to leave the alley. Eponine heard them approach and swung her fist to meet the face of the closest man.

Pain shot through her hand as it collided with the face of Babet, who let out a grunt and stumbled back, clutching his cheek. Claquesous snarled and grabbed her fist, twisting her arm. Eponine yelped and kicked her legs at him to get away. It was Montparnasse who told him to let her go, but as she backed away, rubbing her sore arm confusion creasing her brow as she tried to calculate the madman's motives.

Montparnasse suddenly strode over and grabbed Eponine by her hair, jerking her head back, exposing her neck. Eponine felt the familiar coolness of his bade on her throat and she couldn't help her eyes going wide as she stared into his cold, stony face, marred by scars and dirt.

"You have a week to see sense, my dear. You have a week to see sense and come back to the gutter where you belong. Is that clear?" he whispered.

Eponine gulped and stared, unblinking into his face. Her mouth set in a tight line as she dared to defy him. She cried out involuntarily as he yanked on her hair and roared, "I said: _Is. That. Clear?!_" he pressed his knife to her skin and Eponine was sure that there would be a mark. Unwilling to push her luck further she nodded and she crumpled to the floor when Montparnasse released her. As she scrambled to her feet Montparnasse spoke,

"If you aren't back in time, 'Ponine... We'll come get you ourselves, that rat you call your brother too."

Eponine locked eye's with Montparnasse and she shook her head, "No, not Gavroche. Leave him alone. Hurt me, not him," she pleaded.

"You know what to do then don't you, _mademoiselle_?"

Eponine nodded and slowly backed out of the alley, feeling defeated. She was going to have to leave her life with the students and return to the streets and if her Father's wrath was anything to go by, she might die on the streets too. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, to compose herself and smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress and combing her shaking fingers through her hair (careful to cover up the mark on her neck) she began to make her way back to the market place, hoping that no-one had noticed her absence.

* * *

**So, yeah. I hope this was ok for now. Once again, I'm really sorry for the delay! **


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